


With the arc of the sun

by zetsubooty



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Abe realising no I am REALLY fucking gay holy shit someone help, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Future Fic, Long-Distance, M/M, Masturbation, More Gay Than Originally Planned in Rome, Morning Sex, Snapchat, Texting, Travel, alcohol mention, incredibly awkward sexting, kaishain!Abe??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4084696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubooty/pseuds/zetsubooty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abe and Mihashi have been dating for a little more than a year, and with their busy schedules, it’s not unusual for them to have to go a while without seeing each other. But just the same, it’s very different when the one you love is in an entirely different country. Gives you the clarity to face up to things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WHOO gonna see if I can do this again.
> 
> also known as the "Abe and Mihashi have HELLA data plans" AU
> 
> (apologies for any inaccuracies or general stupidness in this)

**Day 1**

On the taxi ride to the airport, Abe has plenty of time to think about how he’d last seen Mihashi. Sprawled on his face in bed, hugging the pillow with one arm and the other outflung on the sheets that perhaps still held the lingering heat of Abe’s own body, the blankets draped and crumpled across his slim hips almost artistically in the thin moonlight. Abe had felt something fizzy and warm in his stomach at the sight, had needed every ounce of self-control not to climb back in beside him, pull Mihashi against his chest and kiss his shoulder and let his sleepy weight soak into his body. He’d let himself kiss his shoulder, at least, tugging the covers up over skin already dotted with goosebumps.

Mihashi had turned, stretching arms up to pull him down, a sulky, “You’re not allowed to leave without kissing me _properly_ ,” and then something Abe meant to be a quick peck that turned into luxuriant, open-mouthed kissing and Mihashi had morning breath and Abe didn’t give a fuck, just wanted to sink down on top of him and never get up. Except then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the cab downstairs. Abe still lingered with their faces pressed close for a moment longer before standing, one of the hardest things he’s ever done in his life.

Looking out the window at the dark city rushing by, he brushes his fingers over his lips, fancying he can still feel Mihashi’s there, still feel his fingers twining in his hair and slipping under the collar of his shirt.

“You leave someone waiting for you?”

Abe jumps, turning to look at the cabbie. “Eh?”

“You gotta sweetheart?”

Abe resists the urge to check in the mirror to make sure Mihashi hadn’t left him with an obvious hickie. Again. “What makes you say that?”

“I been doing this job a long time, and driven a lotta people to airports who’re leaving someone special at home. I can always tell.”

“Mm.” _Why are you still talking to me?_

“Also you’re blushing.”

* * *

Abe tries not to be obvious about looking out the windows at the planes, but he can’t do anything about the childish excitement coiling inside him. They’d gone on a trip to Hawaii once when he was fourteen and too grumpy and busy trying to look cooler than Shun to truly appreciate it. But other than that, any trips the Abe family took were piled into the car.He has an impulse to text Mihashi about it, but makes it as far as getting his hand on his phone before stopping. _He’s still asleep, and he doesn’t have much longer before he has to get up for practice. Besides, it’s not a big deal._

And most of why he’s _on_ this trip in the first place is because he’s young enough to make the company look fresh and competitive but mature enough to behave and keep his mouth shut and not make it look stupid. As his supervisor had been more than happy to tell him, leaving him feeling more insulted than anything. So he keeps a carefully straight face waiting on the uncomfortable chairs and then all down the long, rattling walkway and onto the plane.

It hadn’t occurred to him until the beaming attendants are directing him to his seat that they’ll be in business class. His seat is on the aisle, and he can’t help glancing out the small window as he turns from stowing his carry-on.

“D’you need to switch seats with someone, kiddo?”

Abe smiles, cringing internally. “No, I’m good, thank you, Kawaguchi-san.”

“Go on,” he pats Abe’s elbow in a way that’s fortunately as kindly as it is patronising, “I’m old, I’ll probably nap half the flight anyway. Someone should sit in the window who will appreciate it.”

Another couple of exchanges of refusal and insistence before Abe gives in. He insists on helping Kawaguchi with his carry-on at least, and gets told he’s a good boy for it, which is he’s sure nicely meant but mostly leaves him grinding his teeth.

And then he’s staring down at the tarmac and the attendants rushing around with last minute preparations, letting the babble of other travellers passing by wash over him. And thinking about Mihashi again, about his smile as Abe had drawn back from their kiss, about waking up like he does so many mornings (but not enough) with his head pillowed perfectly on Mihashi’s chest and shoulder, about the first thing he saw this morning, Mihashi’s right hand, curled loosely on his stomach.

Abe pulls out his phone, pressing the button to wake it up. _It’s only been a couple hours, this is ridiculous._ And yet somehow he’s swiping it open and tapping through to messages.

> [Abe: On the plane now.]  
>  [Don’t text back; I’ll be shutting off my phone. I’ll talk to you once we land.]  
>  [Eat a proper breakfast, and have a good game today.]

There’s last minute work to be done on the flight, which is fine with him, especially once they reach altitude and all there is to see out the window is a blinding expanse of white fluff. And then, starting from sometime in the mid-afternoon, there’s drinking, which Abe thinks is a spectacularly bad idea. (He’s vindicated later when they hit some turbulence and one of the other “fresh faces” starts turning more green.) Still, Abe dutifully matches the higher-ups for three drinks but then strategically pretends to fall asleep. Even though his entire body is practically vibrating with pent-up energy. _Should’ve gotten up earlier and gone for a run. At least I got a decent workout last n—_

Eyebrows twitching, Abe turns his flaming face to the window.

* * *

When they first disembark, the Fiumicino airport feels dissapointingly like the basement of a rather dingy mall. Improved substantially once they come out into the airy, multi-levelled arrivals area where evening sunlight angles in through the high wall of windows. They’re met by a very tidy and fashionable 30-something woman, Mrs. Mammoliti, who will be their translator and liaison with the Italian company. Then it’s a bustle of activity to get everyone and their luggage all piled into cars, and this time, Abe ends up wedged in the back seat between Kawaguchi and a bored woman from Legal, and can’t see that much of the scenery going past without obviously leaning around them.

A brief stop at the hotel to drop their stuff and freshen up, and then off to meet with more representatives of the company. Dinner at a restaurant in some converted heritage building, worn stonework faces watching over them as they eat delicious unfamiliar food that he doesn’t quite catch the name of. Seafood bathed in delicious creamy citrus sauce, a salad with a deliciously flavourful soft cheese arranged in artful slabs on it, and of course, pasta, obviously freshly-made and perfectly cooked. And free-flowing bottles of wine, of course, but at least now there’s enough bustle and little enough light that Abe can get away with barely sipping his glass (even though it’s also delicious). The conversation stumbles around, mostly the members of each company talking amongst themselves, or depending on Mammoliti or confused English to communicate.

Finally it's over. Too-loud, too-long goodbyes in the narrow street outside, a too-close taxi ride redolent of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and various scented products that don’t quite disguise the smell of people who have been in transit for an entire day. And then blissfully, blissfully, people and noise fall away in layers until the door of his hotel room clacks shut behind him.

It hadn't hit Abe until now that he was rooming alone, and he thanks whatever god of administrative fuck-ups had worked that little miracle. The sound of the air conditioner somehow makes it seem all the more silent in the room, a presence of non-presence. It’s a relief after so long in closed quarters with a bunch of near-strangers; some of the people here, he has a nodding acquaintance with, and they’d worked together leading up to this trip, but there’s no one he particularly considers a friend. Nevermind the horror of the perfectly nice-seeming woman with streaks of grey through her elegantly swept-up hair who had been sitting across the table from him, who kept squinting at him like she ought to know him and kept trying to _talk_ to him.

Weaving a little with the wine and the bone-deep exhaustion of travel, Abe strips out of his suit, hanging each piece up with deliberate care, then, clad in boxer-briefs and socks and phone in hand, collapses on the foot of the bed.

It still displays the time back in Japan, and he cringes. _No way I’m texting him at this hour._ Abe stares at the calm gradient of his lock screen, frowning, then opens his phone. Sure enough, the icon for texts shows no obnoxious little red notification marker. The crease between his brows deepens; partly, he’s offended at how disappointed he feels.

_It hasn’t even been a day, and not like we haven’t gone longer without talking before. I’m sure he was exhausted by the time he got home, anyways._

Abe sighs, flopping back on the bed. He types out a perfunctory mail to his parents, _Hello, I’m not dead, I’ll bring you back souvenirs_ , then stretches his arms above his head on the stiff coverlet. Groaning, he makes himself stand and get ready for bed.

* * *

**Day 2**

He didn’t notice it the night before when he got out his toiletries, but Abe sure as hell notices when he opens his suitcase in the morning.

He supposes it, and its attendant note, were probably originally quite tidily laid on top of his belongings. Abe picks up the Egregious Tie as if it were a poisonous snake. Which is to say, he doesn’t at first, just stares at it in horrified paralysis. He unfolds the note, addressed to him in Mihashi’s lamentable writing.

> _Abe!_  
>  _I slipped this in here. A present! Also some cookies you said you liked? I hope they didn’t all crumble. And that it’s not illegal. I’m really sorry if it’s illegal._

Abe eyes the cheerily-patterned bag of (in tact seeming) home-made cookies with substantially more good will.

> _But the tie! I thought, a thing you could wear, to remember me?_

“I wasn’t aware that was a concern,” he informs the note.

> _If you like. You don’t have to! But I saw it, and I thought it was fun?_  
>  _< 3_  
>  _Mihashi_

“Fun.” He supposes that… _fun_ …is a descriptor that could be used. And the background shade of green is very nice, if perhaps a little bold for the office. The repeated pattern of aggressively photorealistic (but inaccurate) gloves with a ball hovering in front of them, however, is… Abe looks to where his other ties lie wound in tidy circles; muted colours and tone-on-tone patterns. He looks back at the Egregious Tie. He looks at the note. And then slumps forward with a sigh.

_I’ll wear it down to breakfast and take a photo so he’ll know I wore it out of the room. And then I’m doing my level best to lose this abomination. Possibly burning it._

* * *

> [07:17am]  
>  [Abe: Morning.]  
>  [Or I suppose it’s afternoon there now.[  
>  [Point is, I found your gift. Thanks. Cookies are delicious.]
> 
> {A selfie: Abe, sleepy-looking and wearing a modest suit topped off with the Egregious Tie, with his cheek smushed against his fist. Behind him, a nice but generic Western dining room with a cold buffet breakfast laid out on a table being picked over by other people in business attire and a few obvious tourists.}
> 
> [07:19am]  
>  [Ren: ☆*:.｡.(＾◇＾).｡.:*☆]  
>  [Abe-kun looks sleepy]  
>  [and handsome]

Abe slowly raises an eyebrow at his phone.

> [Ren: what are you doing today?]
> 
> [Abe: Boring stuff.]
> 
> [Ren: all day??]  
>  [(T◇T)]
> 
> [Abe: Just about. What’d you expect?]
> 
> [Ren: if you do something fun]  
>  [will you take pictures?]
> 
> [Abe: Should I? What constitutes “something fun”?]

He thinks about the tie and cringes.

> [Ren: idk!!]
> 
> [Abe: Well, then how am I supposed to know?]  
>  [Don’t ask for something so vague.]
> 
> [Ren: sorry]  
>  [I just]  
>  [I wish]  
>  [I wish I could be on a trip like that with you]  
>  [and I thought]  
>  [if I could see the same things Abe is seeing?]  
>  [just]  
>  [anything]  
>  [then it would be a little bit like I was there with you]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: So just anything will do? Anything I’m seeing.]
> 
> {A photo of a picked-over breakfast plate with a small croissant, thinly-sliced ham, a cup of yogurt, and some fruit salad in a separate bowl, along with a cup of coffee.}
> 
> [Ren: yeah!!]  
>  [just like that!]
> 
> [Abe: You’re very easy to please, aren’t you?]
> 
> [Ren: MORE fun stuff would be better unu]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [is it]  
>  [is it yummy]
> 
> [Abe: Yes.]
> 
> [Ren: will you]  
>  [tell me?]  
>  [what’s it like?]
> 
> [Abe: It tastes like food.]
> 
> [Ren: >n<]
> 
> [Abe: They have something called chicory you can have instead of coffee. It tastes weird, and it makes the coffee from the machine taste weird.]
> 
> [Ren: weird like what?]
> 
> [Abe: I dunno, just weird!]  
>  [Look, I gotta finish and get going.]  
>  [I’ll talk to you later.]
> 
> [Ren: okay…]
> 
> [07:48am]  
>  [Abe: Maybe I’ll bring some home for you to try.]
> 
> [Ren: ☆*:.｡.\\(＾◇＾)/.｡.:*☆]
> 
> [Abe: Nevermind, Miura-kun says she’s seen it in the grocery store back home before. You could get some yourself if you really want.]
> 
> [Ren: (>◇<)]

* * *

He wouldn’t mind all the meetings, it’s more not feeling like he has a clear job to do that gets to Abe. He takes notes. A lot of notes. One of the other young guys ribs him about it during a break, and Abe just blandly stares him down. Later, he notices him taking notes, too.

Lunch brings a welcome reprieve, and Abe collects the sandwich provided and then heads outside, finally settling down on the edge of a planter in the shadow of the tall, gleaming office building. He swings his feet once, then stills, glancing around hurriedly at the passing professionals. Shrugging, he transfers his sandwich to one hand and fishes out his phone.

> [01:11pm]  
>  {A photo of a sandwich and Abe’s finely-clad knees.}  
>  [Abe: Don’t think I’ve ever had such delicious vegetables, though maybe I’m just hungry. It’s a little soggy, but still good.]  
>  [Actually, it’s really dry here, though. Weird, ‘cause I think the ocean’s about as close here as it was back in Saitama.]  
>  [But then I guess there was the river, too.]  
>  [I think I remember a river on the map, though.]  
>  [This is incredibly stupid.]
> 
> [Ren: it’s not!]
> 
> [Abe: No, it really is.]
> 
> [Ren: it’s NOT!!]  
>  [I LIKE if Abe talks to me about things like that!]  
>  [I]  
>  [TOLD]  
>  [you]  
>  [so]  
>  [TELL]  
>  [ME]
> 
> [Abe: Wow, you’re so much pushier when I can’t tickle you.]  
>  [Maybe I should make sure to get you EXTRA good when I get back]
> 
> [Ren: NO]

Abe snickers into his fist.

> [Abe: Yes.]
> 
> [Ren: (>◇<)]  
>  [NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOO]
> 
> [Abe: I’m putting it in my Official Businessperson Calendar.]  
>  [New event: Tickle the shit out of Mihashi when I get home.]  
>  [Maybe pinch him, too. Wrestle him and kick his ass and pin him to the floor and sit on him and laugh at his sorry ass.]
> 
> [Ren: NO]  
>  [except]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [if you did that]  
>  [I might get kind of…]
> 
> [Abe: What?]  
>  [Please speak in complete sentences, or at least try.]
> 
> [Ren: I don’t wanna say it!!]  
>  [/)//n//(\\]
> 
> [Abe: You’d…is that supposed to be blushing?]

Abe squints at his phone a moment longer, then flushes himself.

> [Abe: Oh my god, Mihashi…]
> 
> [Ren: /)v(\\]
> 
> [Abe: WHAT THE HELL’S THAT ONE SUPPOSED TO MEAN NOW]  
>  [Look]  
>  [I should finish my lunch and go back in. And YOU should probably be doing something else, too.]
> 
> [Ren: okay!]  
>  [but]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [can I]  
>  [see a picture of your face?]
> 
> [Abe: I sent you a picture this morning.]
> 
> {A photo of Abe, off-center and tilted but taking in most of his head and his shoulders; he’s glowering impressively and has a crumb on his lip.}
> 
> [Abe: There. You happy?]

There’s no response, but the message shows ‘read’ so he shrugs, shuts his phone and finishes his sandwich before stretching luxuriantly and heading back inside.

* * *

> [07:04pm]  
>  [Ren: Abe-kun took off the tie.]

Stomach falling, Abe stares at the message preview long enough for the display to turn black. _What’re you even still doing up?_ He’s suddenly glad he’d opted to walk back, glad there’s no one he knows around looking at his face.

> [Ren: it’s okay]  
>  [I kind of]  
>  [I knew it was silly]  
>  [I didn’t think Abe-kun would even put it on]  
>  [so]  
>  [it’s okay]
> 
> [Abe: But you’re still upset.]
> 
> [07:15pm]  
>  [Ren: yeah]
> 
> [Abe: Why would you do something you KNEW was likely to make you upset?]
> 
> [Ren: I don’t know?]

Abe facepalms.

> [Abe: Well, maybe think about that next time.]
> 
> [Ren: I just]  
>  [is]  
>  [Abe-kun is mad?]

Double facepalms.

> [Abe: NO.]  
>  [Don’t just assume the worst every time! ffs]
> 
> [Ren: but I don’t!]  
>  [not always]  
>  [like]  
>  [last night!]  
>  [when Abe didn’t text]  
>  [I was worried]  
>  [but then I told myself not to?]  
>  [and that you were probably just busy and tired?]  
>  [so I didn’t feel so worried anymore!]
> 
> [Abe: Do you want a fucking cookie?]
> 
> [07:21pm]  
>  [Ren: I’m sorry]  
>  [it was a stupid thing to do]  
>  [I do a lot of stupid things, I know]  
>  [I won’t be upset anymore]  
>  [and I won’t give you more dumb presents]  
>  [so don’t worry]
> 
> [Abe: Calm down. Did I say I wanted any of that?]  
>  [I don’t understand you sometimes.]  
>  [Correction: most of the time.]
> 
> [Ren: I’m sorry!!]
> 
> [Abe: THAT’S NOT SOMETHING YOU NEED TO APOLOGISE FOR.]  
>  [I’m just trying to explain.]  
>  [Look, it’s just that for me, doing something so…illogical, and then not even knowing WHY is just…]  
>  [I’m just confused.]
> 
> [Ren: oh]  
>  [does Abe-kun never do things without knowing why?]

Unbidden, the memory comes to him of stepping into a coffee shop and seeing familiar ridiculous blond hair squashed down under a toque and a face that neither large sunglasses nor the changes wrought by adulthood could render unrecognisable to him (though of course, Abe has watched every one of their games, even when Mihashi hadn’t made it out of the bullpen). Plus the fact that Mihashi had been staring at him open-mouthed and then broken into a smile that had left Abe with a fluttering in his chest and an answering grin stretching his own mouth.

Mihashi hung around while he got his coffee, and somehow, the errands Abe had been on his way to run didn’t seem so urgent anymore, and there was a park nearby, so they walked. Abe’s cup in his left hand and Mihashi’s in his right and their chilled fingers brushing every so often, shoulders nudging when the path narrowed. He’d tried to keep his eyes on the path ahead, but they were drawn always, always to Mihashi and his bright eyes, there for Abe to admire with his sunglasses propped on top of his head, and the smile and laughter that came so much more readily now, the pink at the tip of his nose from the cold and the pink across his cheeks that couldn’t be entirely explained by it.

They had finished their coffees, found a trash can, and yet still, still walked.

And perhaps Abe wasn’t looking at the path ahead, but it wasn’t him who tripped.

Mihashi fit so easily into his arms and there was perhaps a split second where they looked into each others’ faces with visceral realisation slamming into them like a 150km fastball, but certainly no _thought_ had happened before he squashed Mihashi closer and kissed him.

He had fallen back with his eyes sliding off Mihashi’s face and his fingers covering his lips as if to hold back their importunate ways, and babbled out, “Shit, sorry, that was really forward of—” only to be cut off, wonderfully, _wonderfully_ interrupted by Mihashi surging into his space, grabbing the front of his coat and the tail of his scarf with a frantic noise and kissing him again.

And again.

And again.

Sunglasses fallen to the cold-packed earth at their feet, the sound of ducks somewhere nearby and traffic not much farther, and the delicious icy-wet smell of winter layered over, muting, but not disguising a scent that was almost as familiar to him as his own, and a hand twined in his own like it was always meant to be there, cold, so cold at first, and then warm like a tiny sun.

> [07:34pm]  
>  [Ren: Abe?]
> 
> [Abe: I was thinking about kissing you.]
> 
> [Ren: (O◇O)]  
>  [/)//v//(\\]  
>  [but]  
>  [why?]
> 
> [Abe: Remembering the first time.]  
>  [I didn’t really think about why I did it beforehand, but it seemed obvious in retrospect. So I guess I sort of get what you’re saying, but not exactly.]
> 
> [Ren: but Abe’s trying so I’m happy!]  
>  [also happy thinking about that time]  
>  [Abe was very dashing]
> 
> [Abe: Dashing.]
> 
> [Ren: mm-hm!!]  
>  [I was amazed!]  
>  [that someone like you would want to kiss me]
> 
> [Abe: You LOOKED pretty startled. I thought I'd fucked up really bad for a second.]  
>  [Wait—what?]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi. What.]
> 
> [07:41pm]  
>  [Ren: that]  
>  [because]  
>  [Abe-kun is very handsome]  
>  [and clever]  
>  [and lots of things I’m not]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi, you are a promising reserve pitcher on a well-thought-of professional baseball team. You’re perhaps the most hard-working person I know, at your hobbies and your work alike (maybe not school, but you tried when you needed to), and you’re caring and thoughtful (even if you are a bit of a ditz), and I love you. A lot.]

Abe stops, leaning against a sun-warmed wall and staring at the ‘read’ notification for long enough to ascertain Mihashi’s not answering.

> [Abe: Send me a picture.]
> 
> [Ren: ???]
> 
> [Abe: I sent you TWO. Where’s mine?]
> 
> [Ren: but I’m in bed and I don’t look nice or anything!!]
> 
> [Abe: You always look good to me.]

This time, he waits more patiently when there’s a pause, and is rewarded not too long after.

> {A photo, in dim light. Mihashi’s arm is across his eyes, but he’s smiling goofily, hair fanned messily on the pillow.}
> 
> [Abe: You’re blushing.]
> 
> [Ren: YOU SAID STUFF LIKE THAT!!]  
>  [so of course I’m blushing!!]
> 
> [Abe: Why blush? Everything I said was true.]  
>  [And what the hell’s with that arm? I wanted a picture of your FACE, not your arm.]  
>  [Your arm is very nice, though.]  
>  [Actually, I can’t even see your arm properly. Nice pjs.]
> 
> [Ren: if you’re not here, I get cold!]
> 
> [Abe: That’s all I am to you, then, just a pretty face and a source of nighttime heat?]
> 
> [Ren: YES XP]

Abe snorts out a laugh, drawing curious glances from a few passers-by. And then covers his smile as his phone chirps a notification at him.

> {A photo of Mihashi, now just clutching covers up under his chin, lips pressed together in a shy smile but looking full-on into the camera this time.}
> 
> [Abe: That’s better.]  
>  [You look good.]
> 
> [Ren: really?]  
>  [would]  
>  [would you kiss me?]
> 
> [Abe: Of course.]  
>  [In fact, more than once.]
> 
> [Ren: I’d like that]  
>  [(//u//)]  
>  [maybe]  
>  [other things too]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: I’m sure I would, if I were there.]  
>  [Speaking of being there, isn’t it late? You need to get a proper sleep.]
> 
> [Ren: don’t wanna!]  
>  [I wanna talk to you!]
> 
> [Abe: You’re getting whiney; you’re DEFINITELY sleepy.]
> 
> [Ren: T^T]
> 
> [Abe: Go to sleep, Mihashi.]
> 
> [Ren: okay]  
>  [I’m still going to think about Abe, though.]  
>  [;)]
> 
> [Abe: Good. I’m sure I’ll think about you, too. Sleep well.]

Abe smiles, shutting his phone, and heads off to find something to eat.

* * *

> [07:57pm]  
>  [Ren: um]  
>  [I don’t know how to say it right but]  
>  [I’m glad we had that fight? I feel like I understand you a bit better now.]  
>  [so I’m really happy!!]

_Was that a fight??_

> [Abe: Me too. I’m glad we talked about that stuff. You know you can tell me what you’re thinking, right? I won’t always get it, but I’ll try to understand.]  
>  [Now GO TO SLEEP.]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what kind of business is Abe in? wtf are they even doing in Rome? ELOQUENT SHRUGGING THAT'S NOT WHAT WE'RE HERE FOR. (actually I have a pretty good idea of what, but yeah. no1 care.)
> 
> also fun fact: the way I write Mihashi texting in this style would make me want to throw my phone across the room. ovob


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 3**

More intent on stopping the harsh blare of his alarm, Abe almost misses the notification. Blinking sleepily, he taps through to find…a snapchat from Mihashi. Most of his face is obscured by the pillow he’s hugging, morning sunlight catching beautifully in his light hair, eyes bright but still tired.

> [can I have a picture of sleepy Abe?]

Abe rolls over on his back, stretching up his free arm with a grumble that turns into an unwilling chuckle. Letting his arm fall back to the pillow, curled loosely around his head, he lifts his phone to take a photo, eyelids drooping low.

>  [So demanding]

He’s tying laces on his sneakers when the text comes.

> [06:09am]  
>  [Ren: ━=͟͟͞͞(Ŏ◊Ŏ ‧̣̥̇)━]
> 
> [Abe: Is that supposed to be good? Did I adequately satisfy your ‘sleepy Abe’ requirements?]  
>  [Kind of a weird thing to want a picture of, if you ask me.]
> 
> [Ren: Abe made me SUPER EMBARRASSED]  
>  [in the middle of practice!]  
>  [Torima-kun laughed at me!]  
>  [I had to hide my phone]  
>  [almost missed capping it]

Abe rubs his forehead, breathing out an embarrassed laugh, able to imagine all too easily Mihashi’s flailing attempts to keep his phone hidden.

> [Abe: You probably shouldn’t be looking at your phone in the middle of practice anyway. Is it really that exciting?]
> 
> [Ren: I don’t think they mind]  
>  [everyone is just teasing me for missing you]  
>  [they tease lots! but friendly?]  
>  [it’s kind of nice I think]  
>  [and!]  
>  [it’s VERY exciting]  
>  [Abe is not wearing a shirt]
> 
> [Abe: Teasing is good. Also what the hell? You’ve seen me shirtless a thousand times. You couldn’t even SEE anything in the photo.]
> 
> [Ren: well]  
>  [Abe could send me a picture]  
>  [that]  
>  [where I could see]  
>  [a little more]
> 
> [Abe: MIHASHI. You are supposed to be at work. /I/ am going out for a run, and then getting ready to do MY job.]
> 
> [Ren: so]  
>  [I don’t get to]  
>  [see another picture]
> 
> [Abe: NO.]
> 
> [Ren: not even]  
>  [what if]  
>  [when I was on a break]  
>  [and I was somewhere private]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: No.]  
>  [Wait, are you suggesting what I think you are?]  
>  [I’M going for a run. Have a good practice.]  
>  [And TRY and behave yourself.]

* * *

He runs along a route he’d okayed with the front desk through a mess of disjointed phrasebook Italian and a lot of pointing and awkward miming. It’s incredibly relaxing to finally really use his muscles, to fall into the mindless focus of exercise. Also a different way to see some of the city. The strange heavy architecture and old stonework peeking out beside modern train tracks, narrow streets that are reminiscent of home and yet so very different. A city that had built itself into the foundations of its past, rather than allowed the future to spring up like new shoots beside ancient trees. The few sleepy faces he passes, different, the smell of the air, different, the shape of the trees on the horizon, different. Even the shades of green of the grass and the little meadow flowers as he cuts through a field. It’s all beautiful and somehow exhilarating, even if it leaves him with a slight ache in his chest, and he makes good time, looping back to the hotel in plenty of time to shower. He eyes the tub, considering as he scrubs; it’s not properly deep, but it seems decent enough.

Someone comments on seeing him come in when he goes down for breakfast, which leads to someone _else_ lamenting not having brought runners and others telling them to stop being so full of shit or laughing and waxing obnoxiously nostalgic over the energy of youth. Abe’s glad that the conversation doesn’t actually seem to require his participation, except then the bored woman from Legal, Shinohara-san, leans across the table, smiling kindly.

“Your boyfriend’s an athlete, right? Do you run together?”

“Ah, no.” _Did someone tell you? Why??_ “He is, but Mihashi doesn’t need any more exercise than he already gets.”

One of the younger people, Konno-kun, leans in from his left. “Ohh, he’s that weedy little guy, right?” _Excuse me?_ “Yeah, I heard they were worried about him losing so much weight, his first season! Had him on some sort of crazy weight-gain diet. Hey,” he claps Abe’s shoulder, “at least you’ll never have to worry about them suspecting steroids!”

“I…guess not.” _Why would you even think of that? WHY IS THIS A CONVERSATION WE’RE HAVING?_

Shinohara’s apparently not done with him, either. “Is that who you’ve been messaging?”

“Yeah.”

She claps her hands together. “Oh my goodness, how sweet! I remember when me and my husband were just fresh, we were texting all the time.” Her smile turns mischievous. “Even during meetings, sometimes.”

Konno slaps his shoulder again. “Not this guy! All business. Makes the rest of us look bad.”

“If _you_ make yourself look bad by goofing off or spacing out, that’s no fault of mine.”

Konno gives him a wide-eyed look, then guffaws, slapping his shoulder again as he gets up to refill his plate. Abe’s left staring across the table at Shinohara’s expectant smile.

 _Bugger off._ “How long have you been married, then, Shinohara-san?”

* * *

> [10:38am]  
>  [Ren: no picture of breakfast today?]
> 
> [11:04am]  
>  [Abe: It was pretty much the same thing as yesterday.]
> 
> [Ren: oh]  
>  [but we eat mostly the same thing at home, too]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: How does that make it less boring for me to show you this stuff?]
> 
> [Ren: is Abe on a break right now? :D]  
>  [I still wanted to see]
> 
> [Abe: You are very peculiar.]  
>  [Yeah, I am. Don’t have long, though.]
> 
> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [you could]  
>  [send me a picture now]  
>  [?]
> 
> {A photo of a coil-bound notebook resting on a finely-grained wooden table, open to a page of very neatly arranged notes, a pen laid across the page.}
> 
> [Ren: THAT’S]  
>  [that’s not what I was thinking]
> 
> [Abe: XD Be more specific.]
> 
> [Ren: if I was specific]  
>  [if I asked for just what I want]  
>  [Abe would probably say no]
> 
> [Abe: Well, that IS the risk with actually communicating what you want instead of just flopping around like a fish and hoping I’ll magically come through.]
> 
> [Ren: I know]  
>  [that’s what’s scary]  
>  [or sometimes]  
>  [if Abe says yes]

Abe stares down at his phone, mouth pulling into a wide, flat line. Somehow, he has the feeling this is one of those conversations that’s not actually about photos of breakfast.

> [Abe: Mihashi. You know you can always ask for stuff. I might say no, but I’m not going to get mad at you just for asking.]  
>  [Well, I might get mad.]  
>  [Or it might SEEM like I get mad.]  
>  [But if I was mad, it wouldn’t be about the ‘you asking’ part, just about other stuff, I guess.]  
>  [Look, this isn’t coming out right at all. The point is, I want you to talk to me if there’s stuff you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll do it, but I’ll listen, okay?]  
>  [And it’s important to me to know.]
> 
> [Ren: I understand]  
>  [so]  
>  [then]  
>  [can I have a picture of Abe with no shirt?]  
>  [:D]
> 
> [Abe: Absolutely not.]  
>  [Wow, look, notice how neither of us has spontaneously burst into flame.]
> 
> {A snapchat photo, also of the notebook; however, drawn overtop is a waist-up stick-figure in a flexing pose. It is almost impossible to tell, even with the helpful addition of hair and cursory eyes, but we may imagine from context it is meant to be Abe, and from the fact that the torso is drawn in the same eye-searing red as the head and facial features, that he is meant to be shirtless.}
> 
> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [that’s]  
>  [terrible]

Abe bursts out laughing, as much from Mihashi’s honesty as anything, then covers his mouth, hunching forward sheepishly over the table; two middle-aged men who have lingered in the room give him the stink-eye, but go back to their conversation.

> {Another snapchat, in landscape view on a slightly tilted background of a field with several uniformed men doing fielding practice; this one is a picture of two stick-figures with their faces smushed together and crude arms around each other. A heart underneath and their shut eyes would seem to indicate they are smooching, and their hair is more distinctly drawn in a way that suggests Abe and Mihashi.}
> 
> [Abe: Yep, that’s better than mine, no contest.]  
>  [Pretty cute.]
> 
> [Ren: \\(＾◇＾)/]  
>  [I practice lots because I send pictures to Tajima]
> 
> [Abe: Yeah? You’d showed me some of the ones he sent you…]  
>  [Look, they’re getting ready to start again here, so I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?]
> 
> [Ren: okay!!]  
>  [<3]

* * *

> [01:05pm]  
>  [Abe: <3] 

* * *

**Day 4**

After a scintillating morning trying to, among other things, engage in bilingual troubleshooting over an uncooperative and elderly fax machine, they’re released early. Which is good, because things like having people he barely knows attempt to ask him weirdly personal questions or use his given name are starting to wear on Abe. A small group decides to hop on the metro and head into the city centre to tramp around and admire antiquities, and Abe resignedly decides he should go along.

After they’ve filed past a couple historic wonders, one of the other younger people, Miura, prods him ungently in the side. “Why aren’t you taking photos?”

Abe blinks at her, then asks, “Why take photos of something you can find a million images of on Google?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “I think you don’t know how to be a tourist.”

“Not one of the things I particularly aspired to be when I grew up, no.”

Konno comes up behind him to slap him on the back again. _Do you think that’s how you announce your presence to people?_ “So grouchy! The point is, _you_ took it. Personal touch, all that.”

“And yet the photo looks the same. Probably crappier.”

Abe doesn’t feel like the statement warrants quite that amount of laughter. “Guess so! But c’mon, you’re making Miura-chan cranky—”

Miura’s smile would make a smarter man quail. “Konno-kun, if you call me that _one_ more time, you’re going to be feeling it for the rest of the trip. Or perhaps I should take it up with HR when we get home? ” Konno does show some remorse after that, and Miura unfortunately returns her attention to Abe. “Here. Gimme your phone, then. Get a picture with you in it. Can’t find _that_ on the internet.” She thrusts her hand out, flexing her fingers in a way that brooks no argument; Abe sighs and hands it over.

Even in April, crowds throng in front of the Trevi Fountain, and Abe can’t get too far back without people pressing between them. He smiles, more of an awkward grimace, and resists the urge to cross his arms until Miura finally says, “Got it!” He sighs, leaning to one side with a hand on his hip and rubbing an embarrassed and lightly exasperated hand over his forehead, though there’s a certain fondness to his half-smile.

He looks up in time to see that Miura still has the phone up. His first thought is that she’s looking through his photos, and somehow, the idea of anyone else seeing the photos of Mihashi, chaste as they are, horrifies him. He’s relieved enough by her triumphant, “There! Got a couple that’re a bit more natural,” that he just rolls his eyes.

Someone insists on photographing everyone making a wish. Abe considers refusing, but it honestly seems like more of a pain, and no point in being rude.

Konno elbows Miura. “So do we do like at a shrine? How do Westerners do it?”

“Oh my god, just _watch_ them.”

Abe closes his eyes before he can get caught rolling them again. He waits for the photographer’s overenthusiastic countdown, then flings his coin over his shoulder.

He doesn’t intend to make a wish, and yet somehow, his mind turns to tawny hair in morning sunlight and the smell of coffee, to evenings on the couch with a familiar weight slumped against his shoulder and fingers gone loose with sleep in his own, to the indescribable and embarrassing warmth that settles in his chest on those rare days where he comes home and Mihashi is waiting in his apartment for him with a chipper or sleepy, “Welcome home!” and sometimes the wafting smell of a delicious meal on the stove. There are some wishes that are perhaps too big to make with words, can only be sketched out in the colours of the heart, especially when part of the wish is to enjoy the messy perfection of how the future unfolds.

As they march towards the next awe-inspiring dusty monument, Abe finds himself opening his phone, thumbing uninterested past the photos of himself to the ones of Mihashi from a few nights back. He flicks between them, a slow smile stealing over his face that he promptly covers with the back of his hand, glancing up. In time to catch Konno with _his_ phone up.

“Damnit! Almost had it.”

“The _hell?_ ”

Miura falls abreast of him, looking over at his phone. “What were you looking at that had you so dreeeeeamy?”

Abe clicks his phone shut, slipping it into his pocket and forcing himself to meet her gaze with steady disapproval. “Some photos from home.” Feeling magnanimous, though, he adds, “Of Mihashi.”

“Ooh! They racy?” Konno nudges a pointy elbow into his side.

“Inappropriate. And are you even _into_ dudes?” Konno shrugs, shaking his head, idiot smile still plastered in place. “If you must know, no, they’re _not_. He’s wearing yellow pyjamas with sheep on them.”

“Oh my god, you’re _kidding_ me! Now you _have_ to show…” Miura grabs his arm to pull them out of the flow of foot traffic, sparing a glance for their superiors who are examining some relief carvings high up on a wall.

Abe feels another surge of protective possessiveness, but along with it, something embarrassingly like pride. With a sigh, he fetches his phone back out, reopening the first picture and holding it out to her (somewhat belligerently) and then flicking to the second. Miura takes it from him with a contained cry, fingers covering her mouth. “Oh no, how _precious!_ You _gotta_ mail these to me.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“Lemme see!” Konno crowds beside Miura, snorting out a laugh when he sees. Abe covers his face with both hands, rubbing between his brows. “He always looks so together on the mound…what a goof!”

“He didn’t used to.” They turn questioning eyes on him. “Back in highschool, when we played together, every little thing would show on his face. Not good for messing with the batter, not good for team morale.”

Konno peers back at the screen. “Whoa! I never thought of it like that…I just figured pitchers wanted to look cool…”

“He was worried about that kind of thing, too.” Abe huffs out a soft laugh.

““But he always looked cool to me,” right?”

He doesn't _entirely_ appreciate Konno’s “Abe” voice. “I didn’t really think of it like that at the—”

“Wow, highschool sweethearts, though! So romantic!”

“Well, not exactly…” They keep staring at him expectantly. “We were just friends back then,” not that there had ever really been any ‘just friends’ about their relationship, “but we ran into each other a little over a year ago, and things just kind of…happened. Fast.” He can feel his cheeks warming. Particularly when his brain unhelpfully summons memories of just what had happened.

A couple of attempts to meet up thwarted by schedule changes, and then finally, a date that neither of them was entirely confident was a date until they’d clapped eyes on each other and seen the warmth of the others’ smile. Until they’d been standing close in the press of people in the restaurant’s foyer and it had just felt so natural and easy to slip his arm around Mihashi’s waist as they shifted out of the way of people leaving, and natural, too, to keep his arm there even once the people had passed. Natural, yes, and yet leaving him flushed and heart pounding, especially looking down into Mihashi’s shy little smile, feeling Mihashi’s hand cup his own elbow firm enough to belie that shyness and then slide down his arm to his hand.

A dinner that he barely remembers but feels confident was good, reminiscing, reacquainting themselves with the person the other had become and still was. And then, what felt like far, far too soon, driving Mihashi back to his apartment, but pulling into one of the visitor spaces in unspoken question. Breathless kisses across the divide, hands finding the toggles of seatbelts and whatever purchase they could, thighs and shoulders and fronts of coats, and then Mihashi drawing back, face full of that nervous determination Abe knows and loves so well, asking, “Do you want to come up?” And god, Abe had, with an intensity he wasn’t sure he’d felt before. He’d babbled something like in the elevator, about not generally being a first date kind of guy, not out of any defensiveness so much as trying to process the feeling. Mihashi had leaned against his chest, words a light brush of air and buzz of sound against his neck, “Me neither, but…this…it’s been…a long time.” At the time, he’d thought Mihashi meant something else, and anyway, the doors had opened then, drawing them along the slow fall into bed. He hadn’t thought much about it, preoccupied with the wondrousness of Mihashi’s bare skin under his hands and lips and the beautiful reactions he had to even Abe’s most halting efforts, the frantic enthusiasm of Mihashi’s own, each knowing the dance well enough but not the precise tempo of each others’ bodies. But now, he can’t help but wonder just when Mihashi had realised he felt something more than friendship towards him, just how long he’d protected that star in his heart.

 _I suppose I could ask him_. _SHOULD ask him._

He’s glad they’ve started walking again and the conversation has moved on to Miura waxing poetic about whirlwind romances and grousing about a guy she’d been dating for a month before he’d even tried to kiss her. Abe considers pointing out that _she_ could’ve kissed _him_ , but decides to remain silent. Instead, he recalls Mihashi, still naked, sitting on the edge of his bed, hesitant fingers tracing the angles of Abe’s body, eyes wide on his face like he’ll be told to stop at any moment. Twisting, leaning over Abe, fingertips brushing over his cheeks, nose, jaw, now, and an almost worried expression on Mihashi’s face. Abe had waited as patiently as he could before finally growling out, “Would you goddamn kiss me already?” and then just pulled him back down without giving him time for more than a startled squawk.

And after, Mihashi scooching over on the bed until he was pressed against Abe’s side, knee nudging against his leg, and then, as if it were some bold undertaking, hooking his calf around Abe’s. Abe had exchanged an unimpressed look with Mihashi’s ceiling, then wriggled around until he could get his arm around Mihashi’s shoulders, so much broader than in his memory and yet seeming to fit exactly to the length of his arm. Mihashi had huffed out little contented noises, tension draining from him with each one until he was completely settled with his head on Abe’s chest, fingers skimming over his still-sweaty skin in lazy, loose circles.

The cozy, pleasant hotel room seems incredibly empty when he gets back to it.

Abe sits in the window, playing a particularly ugly but enjoyable logic puzzle game on his phone to unwind from the prolonged exposure to people. But it can’t seem to hold his attention, and though he resists the pull as long as he can, he’s starting to feel ridiculous and it’s already late back east, so he exits out and pulls up messaging.

> [06:10pm]  
>  [Abe: Hey]
> 
> [Ren: hi!!]
> 
> [06:19pm]  
>  [Ren: Abe?]  
>  [are you okay??]
> 
> [Abe: Yeah.]  
>  [Tell me about your day.]
> 
> [Ren: ?]

_Why do you always pick the most inopportune times to read between the lines?_

> [Ren: today, I pitched three innings. and pulled off a sac bunt in the fifth!! I got hit a lot, though.]  
>  [I got chewed out]  
>  [but it was with Torima-kun so I think it was just to make us work harder?]  
>  [And! I met a stray cat when I was out!]  
>  [I fed a little of a croissant to it. it was really cute!]  
>  [~(=^‥^)_旦~]  
>  [I got croissants because Abe’s looked yummy]  
>  [maybe I’ll try and make them someday]  
>  [I looked it up and it seems a little physically intensive but not hard]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t exhaust yourself if we can just get them from a bakery.]  
>  [Also, I don’t know if you should be feeding that to a cat. Though I suppose if it’s a stray, it’s probably not the worst thing it eats.]
> 
> [Ren: well, the cat liked it! (=ↀωↀ=)✧]
> 
> [Abe: That emoji is a little…]  
>  [And ‘liked’ isn’t the same as ‘good for’.]  
>  [What else?]
> 
> [Ren: XP]  
>  [um]  
>  [not much?]  
>  [I came home and ate supper]  
>  [and then a bath]  
>  [and then I tried to watch a show but I felt kind of sad]  
>  [so I went to bed early]
> 
> [Abe: Oh crap, you were asleep? You should’ve said!]
> 
> [Ren: but]  
>  [because early]  
>  [it means I had a good rest!]  
>  [already!]  
>  [so now I can talk to Abe for a while]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: I suppose so.]  
>  [You still feeling down?]
> 
> [Ren: nope]  
>  [because Abe texted me!]

Abe comes to a halt standing at the foot of the bed, narrowing his eyes at his phone, reluctant to ask the question.

> [Abe: Mihashi, you weren’t upset because you were waiting for me to text, were you?]
> 
> [Ren: no!]  
>  [I mean]  
>  [I WAS missing you]  
>  [that was why I was sad]  
>  [and maybe also a little from getting yelled at]  
>  [Coach is scary]  
>  [but it wasn’t because of Abe not texting]  
>  [I think]  
>  [now I don’t know!!]  
>  [but I knew I could text if I wanted?]  
>  [I just]  
>  [I miss being close to you]

Once Mihashi seems finished, Abe dries off his hands and picks up his phone again, leaning against the sink as the bathroom fills with steam around him.

> [Abe: Yeah, me too.]  
>  [More than I was expecting.]  
>  [It’s different, when we’re not even in the same country. Even Fukuoka or Sapporo’s not so far, compared to this.]
> 
> [Ren: yeah]  
>  [even if I want to see Abe, I can’t]  
>  [but I don’t want to be sad anymore!]  
>  [so]  
>  [what did Abe do today?]
> 
> {One of the photos of Abe in front of the Trevi fountain. He looks only very slightly vexed in this one.}  
>  [Abe: Looked at a lot of very old and beautiful things. I feel very culturally enriched, now. Also footsore.]
> 
> {A snapchat of what are probably Mihashi’s pyjama-clad thighs. Drawn over top is an outline, complete with vague figure of Neptune, of the Trevi fountain. In front of it are stick figure representations of Mihashi and Abe. They are holding hands.}
> 
> [Abe: Much better.]  
>  [Though they ought to be smooching.]
> 
> [Ren: (＾◇＾)]  
>  [did you take other pictures?]
> 
> [Abe: No. You can see this stuff online or in books. One of my coworkers MADE me take that one.]
> 
> [Ren: oh…]  
>  [but Abe]  
>  [I wanted to see]
> 
> [Abe: Tough luck.]
> 
> [Ren: o(；△ ；)o]
> 
> [Abe: Use all the emoji you want. Still not taking photos of that crap.]
> 
> [Ren: Abe is a jerk]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t care.]
> 
> [Ren: (┳Д┳)]  
>  [well]  
>  [if Abe is going to be a MEANIE]  
>  [maybe I’ll just go back to sleep]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t do that. I just got into the bath.]  
>  [Keep me company.]
> 
> [Ren: oh]
> 
> [Abe: Is that…disappointed, or…?]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi, you have to talk to me.]
> 
> [Ren: not disappointed]  
>  [not that]  
>  [at all]
> 
> [Abe: ???]
> 
> [06:34pm]  
>  {A photo of the tap end of a fairly nice bathtub with pretty rough cloudy grey tiles, and Abe’s hairy legs, one mostly obscured by bubbles, the other bent out of the water, a trail of suds clinging to the inside of his knee.}  
>  [Abe: It’s not as nice as baths back home, but I think I’ll be able to have a decent soak.]  
>  [There was bubble bath, so I figured I’d use it. Smells like vanilla. Pretty generic.]  
>  [Can’t help thinking there’d be room enough for you in here with me.]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi…?]

_Did he fall asleep after all? It says ‘read’…_

> {A snapchat of…mostly, of a pillow, with Mihashi’s hand clenched on its edge. What little is visible of one ear is pink, and if there were any doubt, there are red slanted dashes drawn across where his cheeks should be. It bears the text ABE-KUN IS TRYING TO KILL ME.}
> 
> [Abe: It’s a KNEE.]
> 
> [Ren: THERE’S MORE THAN JUST A KNEE]  
>  [and anyway, it’s ABE’S knee]  
>  [and it’s NAKED]  
>  [and WET]  
>  [so it’s more exciting]
> 
> [Abe: No, I think you’re just weird.]  
>  [You some kind of elbow and knee fetishist?]
> 
> [Ren: NO]  
>  [ABE IS THE WEIRD ONE]
> 
> [Abe: I’m not weird.]  
>  [Hey, you send me a picture of YOUR knees. We’ll see.]

As ridiculous of a request as it seems, and as much as he’s certain he feels affection for, but no particular erotic fascination with, Mihashi’s knees, he notices his pulse quickening, feels a heat in his cheeks that’s not just about the warm water.

> [Ren: but I have pjs on again!!]
> 
> [Abe: So?]  
>  [If you’re that worried about it, then take them off.]

Abe presses the back of his hand against his mouth, sinking lower in the bath with his elbow resting on the edge.

> [Ren: okay…]  
>  {A photo of the foot of a bed; the chocolate-brown covers are flung back, a pair of pyjama bottoms kicked down in a rumpled heap, and there, in all their raunchy, knobbly, lightly scarred glory, are Mihashi’s knees. Pulled together, toes of one foot scrunched over the other. And with no small amount of his muscular thighs in view, squeezed tight together in a way that begs to have someone coax them apart.}

“Shit…” Abe switches to rubbing the pads of his fingers across his lips, then against his forehead, as though shading himself from the photo or some judgmental observer.

> [Abe: Wait]  
>  [That’s my bed.]
> 
> [Ren: um]  
>  [yeah]  
>  [when I]  
>  [when I felt sad, I wanted to be here]  
>  [like I felt a little closer to you?]  
>  [and here makes me think of being happy!]  
>  [that was bad?]  
>  [I should have asked]  
>  [I’m sorry if it’s bad]  
>  [I’ll leave]
> 
> [Abe: No, I don’t mind. I gave you a key, after all.]  
>  [And I wouldn’t make you leave there in the middle of the night!]  
>  [Actually]  
>  [Okay, maybe I AM some kind of perv, but it’s kind of hot.]  
>  [Thinking about you half-naked in my bed.]
> 
> [Ren: (*ﾉωヾ*)]  
>  [nooooooo]
> 
> [Abe: Yep, definitely hot.]  
>  [Thinking about you lying there on the sheets where we fucked, all laid out for me like an unwrapped gift.]  
>  [Wish I was there with you.]  
>  [Push between your thighs and lie on top of you.]
> 
> [Ren: oh…]  
>  [☆*:.｡.(//◇//).｡.:*☆]

Abe considers sinking below the surface of the bathwater. But that would make it harder to keep looking back up at the photo.

> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [um]  
>  [I’m not sure how to ask]  
>  [and it’s okay if it’s not okay!!]  
>  [but]  
>  [would it be okay]  
>  [sometime]  
>  [if I]  
>  [jerked off when I’m here?]

Abe sets his phone carefully on the side of the tub, pressing both hands over his face as he tips his head back against the edge, hips shifting restlessly with the unsatisfying play of water over his skin. When he feels ready, he dries his hands again on a hand towel and picks up his phone.

> [Ren: I’m sorry!!]  
>  [it was rude and gross of me to even think that]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t apologise. I just needed a minute.]  
>  [You can.]  
>  [In fact, I’d like it very much if you did. So long as you tell me about it.]
> 
> [Ren: if I tell Abe first…?]  
>  [it’s okay if I come here again then??]
> 
> [Abe: Yes, you can, but no, that’s not what I meant. I’m telling you to tell me what you’re doing, what you’re thinking, right now. While you’re doing it.]

Heart thumping, Abe stares at the screen for a long time before typing and sending his next thought.

> [Abe: And if you want to, and feel comfortable, you could send a photo.]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi?]
> 
> [Ren: m(O◇O)m]
> 
> [Abe: Is that…good?]
> 
> [Ren: yes??]  
>  [it’s just]  
>  [I kind of wanted to]  
>  [do this]  
>  [but it’s kind of scary now]  
>  [especially]  
>  [photos]  
>  [if I took a picture, it wouldn’t look good]

Abe tips his head back, giving the condensation-dotted ceiling a long-suffering grimace

> [Abe: I SAID if you’re not comfortable, then don’t do it.]  
>  [I absolutely don’t want to pressure you into doing something you’re not okay with.]  
>  [But Mihashi, I love you. I love your body. I love looking at your body.]  
>  [There is no way you could take a photo that wouldn’t look good to me because it’s YOU.]

He stares at the ‘read’ notification a little longer before adding,

> [This is a little intimidating for me, too. But we’re gonna get through it together, alright?]

_This makes it sound like some kind of ordeal._

> [Abe: Look, if it stops being fun, or it gets too embarrassing, we’ll stop, okay?]
> 
> [Ren: okay!]  
>  [um]  
>  [is]  
>  [does that mean Abe’s going to]  
>  [do it too?]
> 
> [Abe: I thought that was the point.]
> 
> [Ren: oh…]  
>  [wow…]  
>  [will]  
>  [will Abe send me pictures too]  
>  [?]

He almost wants to say no, because the idea sounds distracting and bothersome. But he supposes he can’t ask something of Mihashi he’s not willing to do himself, and also, it’s quite obvious how much Mihashi’s enjoying seeing him, and it seems like a productive way to go about this.

> {A snapchat: a close-up of Abe’s knee, with simply the text ∠( ᐛ」∠)＿}
> 
> [Ren: did]  
>  [did Abe just]  
>  [meme me]  
>  [THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!!]  
>  [\\(>A<)/]  
>  [Abe is a BIG MEAN TEASING JERK]
> 
> [Abe: XD]  
>  [Okay, so what WOULD you like a picture of, then?]
> 
> [Ren: (●///▽///●)]  
>  [um]  
>  [maybe just]  
>  [a picture of Abe’s face to start]  
>  [anything more is]  
>  [a little]  
>  [but]  
>  [if I could see a bit more in the picture]  
>  [that would be nice]  
>  [?]
> 
> {A photo of Abe: his head is tilted back, forehead resting against his free hand. He’s smiling slightly, though there’s something of indulgent patience in his eyes and the quirk of his brows. His shoulders and some of his chest are in view, and there are beads of bathwater or sweat running down from his temple and tracing the lines of his neck, caught in the hollow of his throat.}
> 
> [Ren: ABE]  
>  [THAT’S TOO SEXY]
> 
> [Abe: What the hell? There’s nothing in the picture!]  
>  [And I haven’t even started doing anything yet!]
> 
> [Ren: IT’S STILL TOO SEXY]  
>  [I]  
>  [I CAN’T]
> 
> [Abe: If you’re about to say something self-deprecating, I’m DEFINITELY pinching you when I get home.]  
>  [Send me a photo.]
> 
> [Ren: um…]  
>  [but it’s]
> 
> [Ren: what would]  
>  [Abe like to see]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: I don’t really ca  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--  
>  [Well, you could send me back the same sort of thing.]  
>  [You still wearing your shirt?]
> 
> [Ren: yeah]
> 
> [Abe: You could unbutton it. That seems pretty hot.]
> 
> He says ‘seems’ but Abe finds himself waiting impatiently, curled fist pressing into his thigh.
> 
> {Mihashi, leaning back on one hand, collarbones thrown into sharp relief in the creamy light of a bedside lamp and the shadow of his pyjama shirt collar. He looks off to the side, but a small smile curves his lips. The front of the shirt is unbuttoned so that his toned chest and some of his stomach are visible, and he is rather spectacularly flushed.}
> 
> [Abe: You look REALLY good.]  
>  [Shit, I wish I was there right now.]  
>  [I wanna be the one undressing you.]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi?]
> 
> [Ren: Abe said such nice things…]  
>  [but]
> 
> [Abe: Of course I did. Don’t be silly.]  
>  [Mihashi]  
>  [I want to see more of you]  
>  [I want to see ALL of you]  
>  [I wanna see you get hard for me]
> 
> [Ren: um]  
>  [I’m already kind of]
> 
> [most of the way]

Heat spreads down Abe’s spine, leaving him arching languorously against the tub.

> [Abe: Oh]  
>  [Show me]  
>  [Have you been touching yourself already?]
> 
> [Ren: um]  
>  [only]  
>  [only just now]  
>  [for the]  
>  [I wanted to wait until Abe said it was okay?]  
>  {Mihashi’s lower body, taken from his perspective: he is now kneeling on the sheets, legs spread, the tail of the pyjama shirt visible. He grips his mostly-hard dick lightly, but there’s evident tension in his thighs.}

Abe breathes out slowly, head tipping back to bump against the tiles.

> [Abe: Holy shit]  
>  [You’re like that, just from talking about it]
> 
> [Ren: and from the photo!!!]  
>  [not the one of your knee]  
>  [(*｀Λ´*)]
> 
> [Abe: I stand corrected]  
>  [Mihashi]  
>  [I want you to start jerking off]  
>  [I’m gonna start too]

He can picture it so easily in his mind, Mihashi receiving the messages, eyes widening slightly and his flush spreading out to his ears. Biting his lip and looking around furtively as if there was anyone to see, to catch him, and then taking firmer hold of himself. His stuttered inhale at the first stroke, his eyes falling shut.

Abe lets himself grip his dick finally, lips parting on a soft breath and hips giving a controlled jerk. He holds his phone tightly, the back of his wrist pressed over his eyes until there’s a chime.

> [Ren: I’m doing what Abe said]  
>  [if it’s okay]
> 
> [Abe: Hell yeah it’s okay]  
>  [Mihashi I love seeing you like that]  
>  [Not as much as I love touching you]  
>  [But thinking about you doing it to yourself is getting me hard as hell]
> 
> [Ren: can I]  
>  [see]  
>  [please]
> 
> {A view down the length of Abe’s body. His leg is still cocked up, and the muscles of his lower stomach are tensed to hold his hips shallow in the water so that his erection is plainly visible, his fingers encircling the base.}
> 
> [Ren:  ]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi that was just a blank text]
> 
> [Ren: ABE IS TOO HOT]
> 
> [Abe: WHAT THE HELL]  
>  [WHY’RE YOU SAYING IT LIKE A COMPLAINT]
> 
> [Ren: I’M NOT]  
>  [it’s just]  
>  [it’s really]  
>  [I can’t]  
>  [compare]
> 
> [Abe: Okay LOOK]  
>  [You’re not allowed to say ANYTHING ELSE like that for the rest of tonight]  
>  [Not true]  
>  [Don’t wanna see it]  
>  [You’re hot as hell you hear me?]  
>  [And if I was there I’d already have your cock in my mouth]
> 
> [Ren: /)//o//(\\]  
>  [okay…]  
>  [I’ll try not to]  
>  [but...really??]
> 
> [Abe: God yes]  
>  [Although I’d really want to kiss you so maybe not just yet]  
>  [Maybe let you keep jerking off and grind against your ass while we make out]
> 
> [Ren: I’d like that]  
>  [either one]  
>  [just so long as I had Abe]  
>  [I’d wanna touch your dick too though]
> 
> [Abe: Yeah?]
> 
> [Ren: yeah]  
>  [um]  
>  [maybe both?]  
>  [at the same time]  
>  [is that good?]
> 
> [Abe: That’s so good Mihashi]

The rhythmic swishing sound of the water is starting to get rather embarrassing, though its catching slipperiness leaves Abe pulling in careful, tight breaths.

> [Abe: Mihashi]  
>  [Will you take me another photo]
> 
> [Ren: yeah]  
>  [I want to]  
>  [for you]

A shiver of pleasure runs down his spine.

> [Ren: what]  
>  [what does Abe want]
> 
> [Abe: I want one from between your legs]  
>  [Can you do that for me]

He stills his hand on an upstroke, heels pressing against the smooth enamel and hips stuttering up to nudge over-sensitive skin against his fingers as he waits, breathless. And he’s left even moreso when the photo comes, gasping out a string of random profanity and dragging his fingers back down into the water to squeeze the base of his dick.

> {Mihashi’s dick, mostly. Framed by spread thighs that look marshmallow-soft in the warm lighting, it’s flushed, wet at the tip and in a streak down the head like Mihashi’s spread his thumb through the precum, and behind it, out of focus, the stretch of Mihashi’s lean torso up to his head, tipped down to fix wide eyes on the camera, free hand covering his mouth. And yet, somehow, even blurry and without really seeing his lips, it seems he’s smiling.}
> 
> [Abe: Shit]  
>  [What was it YOU were complaining earlier]  
>  [It’s too hot]
> 
> [Ren: really??]
> 
> [Abe: Really]  
>  [WAY too fucking hot]  
>  [Love to run my tongue along the ridge]  
>  [And then up]
> 
> [Ren: oh…]
> 
> [Abe: Tease your slit]  
>  [Kiss my way back down]  
>  [Suck your skin there just to feel you shiver]  
>  [Then back up so I can take you in]
> 
> [Ren: oh my]
> 
> [Abe: Maybe get you with your leg hooked over my shoulder]  
>  [So I can finger you while I do it]
> 
> [Ren: I’d like]  
>  [that]  
>  [if Abe did that]  
>  [but]  
>  [but then I couldn’t touch you]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t care]  
>  [Want you so worked up you could barely jack me off anyway]  
>  [Want you grabbing the sheets and my arms and my hair]  
>  [Wanna milk you dry and leave you shaking and exhausted and still fucking yourself on my fingers]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi?]  
>  [You still okay?]
> 
> [Ren: yeah]  
>  [I’m just]  
>  {Mihashi, apparently lying face-down on a pillow. One arm is over his head, and most of his face is obscured, but we can see the sweep up his back, still covered in his stripy pyjama shirt, though it doesn’t hide the dimples just above his ass, which is sticking up in the air.}
> 
> [Abe: I don’t think you necessarily intended that to be a sexy photo but goddamn Mihashi]  
>  [Heh you’re still wearing the shirt]
> 
> [Ren: but]  
>  [Abe didn’t tell me to take it off yet]

Abe inhales and exhales slowly, eyes wide, running his hand back through his hair, a thought that is not quite a thought forming in him.

> [Abe: Don’t]  
>  [Keep it on]  
>  [And sit up properly]  
>  [Don’t smother yourself dumbass]
> 
> [Ren: okay]  
>  [I sat up]  
>  [is there]  
>  [anything else I should do]

Abe stares at the screen in consternation for a moment. _I don’t know, just do what you normally do??_ Still, the idea of being able to touch Mihashi at least with words fills him with a bright fizz of arousal that has him drying off his other hand, draping himself over the side of the bathtub.

> [Abe: You know where the lube is, right?]  
>  [Get that.]
> 
> [Ren: okay!]  
>  [got it]
> 
> [Abe: Good. Now get some on your hand.]  
>  [And show me.]
> 
> {Mihashi’s left hand, palm-up, fingers cupped ever so slightly. A drizzle of glistening, clear liquid runs unevenly from the pad of his index finger down over his middle finger to his palm.}
> 
> [Abe: That’s good, you’re doing good.]
> 
> [Ren: um]  
>  [I wasn’t sure if]  
>  [so]  
>  [but does Abe want me to do it to myself]  
>  [because Abe can’t]  
>  [?]

Abe stares at the texts uncomprehendingly for a solid minute. Then flushes, curling one arm on the side of the tub and hiding his face in its angle.

> [Abe: Not what I was thinki  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--  
>  [Yeah. In fact, I want you to stop touching your dick, and just finger yourself.]
> 
> [Ren: okay]  
>  [it’s kind of]  
>  [more embarrassing just to do that by myself]
> 
> [Abe: Really?]  
>  [You’re not by yourself, you’re with me.]
> 
> [Ren: (＾◇＾) Abe says such cool things!]
> 
> [Abe: I think you’re just easily impressed.]  
>  [Have you started yet?]
> 
> [Ren: not yet]
> 
> [Abe: Good. Just one finger. And I want to see.]
> 
> [Ren: okay]  
>  [um]  
>  [is Abe]  
>  [still doing it]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: Masturbating?]  
>  [No, I stopped. Does it matter?]
> 
> [Ren: kind of…]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi, I stopped because I was interested in THIS. In YOU.]  
>  [Let me assure you, I’m still turned on as all fuck.]
> 
> [Ren: oh]  
>  [(//◇//)]  
>  [can I]  
>  [see]
> 
> {Abe, flopped back across the width of the bathtub, in what _should_ be an utterly graceless pose. One leg is hooked over the side, mostly out of sight, the other foot braced on the edge, but bent out of the way so as not to block the view of his dick, which curves slightly out of the water towards his stomach. Though his body is relaxed, he stares down the phone intently.}  
>  [Abe: That reassure you?]
> 
> [Ren: YES]  
>  [Abe looks]  
>  [really hot]
> 
> [Abe: That’s nice.]  
>  [Now do what I told you to.]
> 
> [Ren: okay!!]

It’s a long enough wait that Abe, now back leaning on the side of the tub, finds himself scrolling up through the images of Mihashi, slipping a hand down to rub fitfully at his cock.

> {A slightly blurry photo from a vantage point that would be between Mihashi’s legs if they weren’t drawn up to his chest (though little beyond his stomach is visible). The majority of the image is taken up by him obediently sinking his middle finger into his ass up to the knuckle, palm pressing against his balls.}
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi]  
>  [That’s perfect]  
>  [Just like that]
> 
> [Ren: (＾◇＾)]
> 
> [Abe: Does it feel good]
> 
> [Ren: yeah]  
>  [feels good]  
>  [and]  
>  [I was thinking about]  
>  [Abe doing this to me]  
>  [and pushing my legs up like this]  
>  [and it feels]  
>  [better]  
>  [you leaning over me]  
>  [and kissing]
> 
> [Abe: Fuck yes]
> 
> [Ren: my neck and]  
>  [my shoulders and chest and]  
>  [or]  
>  [um]  
>  [on my hands and knees]  
>  [would be good too?]  
>  [not for kissing but]  
>  [and I thought it would be hard to take a picture like that]  
>  [and dripping]  
>  [but]  
>  [I think I would really like]  
>  [if Abe had me like that]  
>  [and was]  
>  [fucking me with fingers]  
>  [I thought]  
>  [that would be hot]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi]  
>  [Are you like that now]
> 
> [Ren: no]
> 
> [Abe: Get on your knees]  
>  [Even if you can’t show me]  
>  [I want you to do it like that]  
>  [And think about me behind you]  
>  [Think about my dick sliding against your ass]  
>  [And me kissing your back]  
>  [My hand on your thigh]  
>  [And in between]
> 
> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [can I]  
>  [touch my dick now]  
>  [I want]
> 
> [Abe: No]  
>  [You can use a second finger though]  
>  [Make sure there’s lots of lube]
> 
> [Ren: !!!]  
>  [okay]

Perhaps he can’t see, but Abe can imagine well enough how Mihashi must look, ass thrust in the air and cheek smushed against the pillow, eyes fallen shut and mouth parted on already ragged breaths. Free hand clenched on the sheets beside his phone to stay obedient even as each time he slicks his fingers into his hole, his arm brushes tantalising against his cock, leaving him with his hips twitching and a tight whimper in his throat. Imagine what he’d look like if Abe _were_ there, both his hands now twisted in the sheet or clinging tight to the pillow. The beautiful curve of his spine and his tensed toes pressed into the mattress. And if Abe were to still his hand, Mihashi rocking back on his fingers, breathing out desperate want, because he has all the impatience of a teen still, has so much hunger in him for more, more, _more_ of Abe’s touch. And he loves it, loves giving Mihashi as much as he can, only withholding so that he can savour Mihashi’s pleasure that much longer.

He thrusts into his own fist, now, biting his lip to keep the heavy breaths that punch out through his nose from becoming anything louder.

> [Abe: Mihashi]  
>  [Take me another photo]  
>  [Show me]
> 
> [Ren: okay]  
>  {From the angle and distance of the photo, we can tell Mihashi had rested his phone on the bed to take it. His thighs, stomach, arm, and straining cock are thrown into warm shadow, but his ass is well-illuminated. His fingers are very obviously curled, not shoved very deep right now but ready to push in again, shining wetly. Since the phone is ostensibly on a solid base, we can presume that the fact that the photo is a little blurry is because Mihashi is having some trouble keeping still.}
> 
> [Abe: Fuck]  
>  [Mihashi]  
>  [You can do it now]

He can imagine Mihashi’s startled, happy cry (not so worried about disturbing neighbours), imagine him reaching down to take his dick in hand, rubbing his face against the pillow but hopefully still managing to spare a glance for his phone.

> [Abe: I want you to]  
>  [I want you to come for me]  
>  [And think about my hands on you]  
>  [And in you]  
>  [Think about me kneeling between your legs]  
>  [And sliding my dick into you]  
>  [Pounding into you just right]  
>  [And my hand on your dick]  
>  [And my breath on your skin]  
>  [Think about me when you come]  
>  [Because I’m gonna be thinking about you]

He drops his phone to the bathmat, coming up on his knees, curled over with his elbow leaning heavy on the edge. He knows he’s panting loud and doesn’t give a fuck. All he cares about is catching hold of the image of Mihashi like that, or any number of ephemeral memories flitting through his mind like steam. Or just Mihashi’s face, his smiling face, the kind of smile he has when he’s just been kissed, eyes still closed and lips tracing a curve full of giddy excitement and ready to form the word _again?_

Abe grits out something that might’ve been a word or a name and comes into his hand, his other fingers leaving half-moon marks across his palm.

> [07:08pm]  
>  [Abe: Mihashi? You okay?]
> 
> [Ren: I]  
>  [yeah]  
>  [I’m sorry]  
>  [I didn’t]  
>  [do]  
>  [I]  
>  [kind of]  
>  [just from]  
>  [inside and]  
>  [just from the things you said]  
>  [I]
> 
> [Abe: ???]
> 
> [Abe: Oh.]

Now standing next to the sink, Abe rubs his jaw, then turns, leans on the edge of the basin, hiding his flushed face in his arm.

> [Abe: Shit, Mihashi.]
> 
> [Ren: is that weird? am I weird?]
> 
> [Abe: Not really, but it’s kind of weird.]
> 
> [Ren: it is]  
>  [is that bad]
> 
> [Abe: No, it’s not ‘bad’, you idiot.]  
>  [Weird is just weird. And finding out new ways to make you come is just FUN, it’s not a PROBLEM.]  
>  [EVERYTHING about you is weird, Mihashi, but that’s what makes you good at the stuff you do, and what makes you YOU, and I love YOU.]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi?]

Abe wanders out into the main room in the hotel’s robe, still toweling off his hair one-handed.

> [Abe: Mihashi, are you okay? You didn’t just conk out on me, did you?]

He drops the towel over the back of a chair, then flops on his front on the bed. He’s debating the wisdom of taking a nap himself when the reply comes.

> [Ren: no]  
>  [Abe is mean]
> 
> [Abe: WHAT THE HELL]
> 
> [Ren: ABE SAID NICE STUFF AND MADE ME CRY]  
>  [even if you also said an actually mean thing T^T]
> 
> [Abe: You’re utterly ridiculous, you know that?]  
>  [This sucks. I wanna be able to hold you now.]
> 
> [Ren: I wanna snuggle Abe too]  
>  [and kisses]
> 
> [Abe: Not too much longer, now. Just a few more days.]
> 
> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [I was]  
>  [wondering]  
>  [can]  
>  [when you come home]  
>  [is]  
>  [is it alright]  
>  [if I]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi, you’re the first person I want to see when I get home.]
> 
> [Ren: /)//◇//(\\]  
>  [but]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [I wanted to ask!!]  
>  [also that’s]  
>  [that’s not all]
> 
> [Abe: ?]
> 
> [Ren: because]  
>  [after]  
>  [when you get back]  
>  [it’s Golden Week and]  
>  [especially because]  
>  [there are no games]  
>  [and no work]
> 
> [Abe: If you think for a second I’m letting you set foot outside my apartment, then you are sorely mistaken.]
> 
> [Ren: ABE]  
>  [I]  
>  [WANTED]  
>  [TO]  
>  [ASK]
> 
> [Abe: Then fucking ASK already!]
> 
> [Ren: it won’t count now]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi. Don’t be silly. Take your time, and ask me.]
> 
> [Ren: (｀へ′)]  
>  [Ren: when you come home, can I stay over at your place for a couple days?]
> 
> [Abe: Yes.]
> 
> [Ren: ☆*:.｡.\\(＾◇＾)/.｡.:*☆]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [I’m sleepy now]
> 
> [Abe: Then go to sleep.]
> 
> [Ren: okay]  
>  [but]  
>  [Abe]

This time, he waits.

> [Ren: I love you]
> 
> [Abe: I love you too.]
> 
> {A snapchat; a narrow Rome street with a few businesses still showing lit signs, thrown into greater dusk by the height of the buildings. Drawn over top is what appears to be Abe and Mihashi tucked into bed together. Abe is kissing Mihashi’s head; it is not entirely clear whether that was the original intent, or if the artist’s lack of skill is at play.}
> 
> {Another snapchat: Mihashi, now with the covers drawn up under his arms, smiling sweetly. Drawn on his forehead in the right place is a small heart.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite part of this are Abe's reactions to being told he's hot. "That's nice. Now do what I told you." KING OF ROMANCE, RIGHT HERE.
> 
> but lbr any incident of Abemiha sexting that is NOT a completely unsexy disaster at least 80% of the time is OOC.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, and for the late update;;;; I'm in the middle of a giant household moving shuffle involving two houses and a basement suite and a LOT of cleaning.
> 
> Also alcohol warning on this chapter, including sex(??) while intoxicated.

**Day 5**

 

The next morning, when he sets out for his jog, Abe takes his phone with him.

It sort of defeats the purpose of running if he stops every couple minutes, but somehow, he doesn’t mind that much. And it’s contributing to the satisfaction of his slowly-growing familiarity with the neighbourhood, the transformation from _a_ place into _this_ place that won’t quite make it as far as _my_ place but nevertheless gives him some of that feeling of home. And it’s that which he’s trying to capture, this morning. The corner store with faded foreign movie posters in the window, the view from the top of the hill, the small café, not open yet, where he’s taken to grabbing an espresso or a (disappointingly unchilled) pop on his way home. The flower trailing over someone’s fence that reminds him of one Mom had tried to grow without much luck, the dusty tram station.

Except he realises once he gets to the low rock wall that one of the main things he’d wanted to photograph is still hidden. Abe shrugs it off and decides to return later.

* * *

 

> [07:06am]  
>  {A snapchat of a breakfast plate, similar to the first, though the croissants have mysterious but appealing dark speckles on them this time and there is a small glass of orange juice. Yellow dashes are drawn sarcastically around it. It bears the text, [Told ya; pretty much the same.]}  
>  [Abe: But here’s something you might like:]  
>  {The photos Abe took earlier.}
> 
> [07:13am]  
>  [Ren: (இ◇இ)]
> 
> [Abe: I assume those are happy weird under-eye blobs.]
> 
> [Ren: VERY HAPPY]  
>  [ABE IS THE BEST]  
>  [though it’d be better if you were in some of the photos…]
> 
> [Abe: I was in the middle of a jog and sweaty and gross and half awake. Not exactly prime selfie material.]  
>  [Photos of places, photos of food, photos of me…]  
>  [Just come here yourself. Stop making me do so much work.]

Mihashi takes long enough to respond that Abe assumes he’s busy and goes back to making (slightly less excruciating than normal) small talk with Miura. But while they’re working on their second coffees and entertaining the Italian family sitting at the same table with their attempts to repeat back names and words for the breakfast foods, his phone chimes.

> [Ren: um]  
>  [I’d like that]  
>  [but I can’t!]  
>  [but]  
>  [do you think]  
>  [maybe]  
>  [sometime]

Miura asks him why he’s looking so constipated. Abe shoots a glare at her and curls over his phone, doing his best to wait.

> [Ren: we could]  
>  [go somewhere?]  
>  [even just!]  
>  [it doesn’t have to be a different country]  
>  [or even very far]  
>  [it could even just be a day trip]  
>  [but]  
>  [just the same]  
>  [I’d kind of like to share a hotel room with Abe again]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: Sure, I’d like that.]  
>  [Why don’t we start planning something when I get back? Maybe sometime in fall, once the season’s over and travel’s cheaper.]
> 
> [Ren:/)//v//(\\]
> 
> [Abe: I’d rather be sharing a hotel room with you.]  
>  [Was happy I’m rooming alone, and not like I want to share with any of these guys, but…]  
>  [I don’t think I notice it as much when I’m at home, but I miss sleeping with you.]
> 
> [Ren: (O◇O)]  
>  [☆*:.｡.⁂(*/ω＼*)⁂.｡.:*☆]
> 
> [Abe: I take that to mean you miss it too.]
> 
> [Ren: yeah!!]  
>  [actually]  
>  [last night]  
>  [and also the one before?]  
>  [when I was ready to sleep]  
>  [I propped up the picture of sleepy Abe beside me on the pillows]  
>  [I know it’s kind of silly]  
>  [but it felt nice]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t sleep with a screen on like that. It’s bad for you.]  
>  [If I’d known that was what you wanted it for, I’d have taken you a dimmer one.]
> 
> [Ren: well]

Abe sighs, pressing the button for the elevator.

> [Abe: I will take you a “sleepy Abe” photo before I go to bed tonight. XD]
> 
> [Ren: yay!!]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t sleep with the daytime one on tonight. You’ll get it in the morning.]
> 
> [Ren: but]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [then it will almost be time for you to come home]
> 
> [Abe: I suppose so.]  
>  [No need to bother, then.]
> 
> [Ren: NO!]  
>  [that’s NOT what I MEANT!!]  
>  [just that I’m excited]
> 
> [Abe: XD]  
>  [Me too.]  
>  [So send me a “sleepy Mihashi” photo before you go to sleep.]
> 
> [Ren: (〃▽〃)]  
>  [I will!!]

* * *

They’re in the final stages of the deal, so there’s not much for ground-level employees like Abe to do, and they’re dismissed again in the late morning. Abe turns down another invitation to go sightseeing and walks back through the warm afternoon and its lemon-bright sunlight. He picks up a sandwich and a bottle of juice at a café and then wanders off the main streets, past strange houses and two churches and a school.

He’s wondering if rude school children are responsible for throwing all these oranges on the ground until he looks up.

Lining the street are orange trees, their delicate fragrance hanging heavy in the air like the warm yellow globes dotting the canopy of waxy green leaves. Abe stops for a moment, resting his eyes in that welcome shade, inhaling deeply. Then pulls out his phone.

He can’t quite get both himself and the oranges in frame in any kind of flattering fashion (not like he cares much about that sort of thing, but he’s pretty sure there’s a limit to how much of the inside of his nose Mihashi wants to see), so he has to make do.

> [12:08pm]  
>  {A snapchat of the orange trees; drawn hanging off one of the branches is stick!Abe. It bears the text [Can’t get a decent pic sorry]}  
>  {Another snapchat, this one just of the trees. [They smell heavenly.]}

He starts walking again, taking corners randomly up curving streets until he finds himself somehow back at the school, this time on the other side. Next to a field set up with soccer goalposts and a small baseball diamond. Abe smiles at it fondly on his way past, at the bare patches where somebody had scratched smudged “bases” into the dirt and the rather sad mound. Then stops, his grin taking on a slightly goofy, sheepish cast.

Sparing a quick glance for the school building, he turns his steps onto the field, hoping that the fact that he’s in a suit and a foreigner will stop him from seeming too weird and shady. He stuffs some pebbles into his empty juice bottle, then sets it down a couple meters from home plate, propping his phone up against it. He backs up and crouches just to see if he’s decently in frame, then steps forward, setting up a timer and then backing up quickly and dropping into a position that still comes as easy as breathing, constricting suit be damned.

He sends the photo to Mihashi, and as he exits out, a snapchat comes from him.

> {A photo of Mihashi’s kitchen counter, the corner of a cutting board with some chopped greens in view, and overtop, a picture drawn of Abe handing Mihashi an orange; he seems quite pleased about it, judging by the drool drawn coming from one corner of his mouth. There is a lumpy, elongated object drawn in the corner of Abe’s side that we can presume is an airplane.}
> 
> [Abe: I am NOT bringing you an orange home. I’m quite certain that IS illegal.]
> 
> [Ren: what pitch?]
> 
> [Abe: Eh?]
> 
> [Ren: Abe set up]  
>  [so]  
>  [what pitch?]  
>  [also it’s okay if I can’t have an orange but I still want one ;w;]

Abe shifts his weight, rubbing his fingers over his smile.

> [Abe: Hmm…with that placement, how about a curve?]
> 
> [Ren: (＾◇＾)]  
>  {A snapchat of what looks like Line on Mihashi’s computer, open to Abe’s photo. Drawn over his face is a crude catcher’s mask, and a mitt on his hand, and a ball, though it seems disproportionately large in comparison to Abe, and is drawn high over his left shoulder.}
> 
> [Abe: You drew it in the wr  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--  
>  [You didn’t draw it in my mitt. How come?]
> 
> [Ren: oh]  
>  [there]  
>  [because that’s where it is when I see it?]  
>  [was that wrong?]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi, we’re just goofing off. There’s no “wrong”.]  
>  [Actually, it’s kind of interesting.]  
>  [Draw me what it would look like if it was a slider.]
> 
> {Another photo of the photo; the ball is drawn lower and to the side, this time, and the seams are in a different placement. It is also smaller, and while artistic error may be at play, it may also have been an attempt to convey the greater speed of the ball.}  
>  [Ren: ?]
> 
> [Abe: Good. Now a fastball.]
> 
> {The ball is at approximately the same height and size, but more in line with Abe’s glove, and the seams are again differently placed.}
> 
> [Abe: This is pretty cool!]  
>  [I bet if you sent these to Tajima, he’d know what the pitches were.]
> 
> [Ren: Abe really thinks so?]  
>  [I don’t know if Tajima would remember…]
> 
> [Abe: It’s Tajima, and it’s YOU. Of COURSE he remembers.]
> 
> [Ren: /)uvu(\\]

Abe looks up from his phone, smiling.

Only to be confronted with a loose ring of preteens and slightly younger kids gathered around him.

He stuffs his phone in his pocket, smile instantly taking an uncomfortable cast. They stare each other down for a long moment. Then, all at once and completely unhelpfully, they start jabbering at him. He picks out “Mister” and a couple other words, but has basically resolved to beat a hasty retreat when something thwacks him in the chest.

Automatically, his hand comes up, catching the softball before it falls. He glares in the direction it came from, and several of the kids avoid his eyes, giggling. But the girl who threw it stares him down evenly before breaking into a grin.

“ _Signor…baseball?_ ” She makes a grasping motion, making as if to throw a ball. Several pairs of questioning eyes turn on him.

“ _Si_. Ah…” He crouches down, putting up his hand. “I’m a catch—er, _sono catcher??_ ” The kids clap indulgently; he feels vaguely insulted.

The girl comes to stand over him, fists on hips. “ _Io sono un ricevitore._ ” She speaks slowly, and it dawns on him that she’s perhaps correcting him. Feeling slightly resentful, Abe stands, repeating the words back. More clapping and some scattered cheering. Then the girl darts off to have a quiet but heated discussion with another kid, who then sulkily stomps over to Abe, holding out what looks to be an older sibling’s glove.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t…” He waves his hands in front of himself, trusting in that and his tone to convey his meaning. The boy shoves the glove against his chest, scowling at him, then turns, calling something at the girl with a fierce grin. The kids laugh, and the girl grins back, so Abe assumes some compromise has been reached. He looks to her as de facto leader, trying to form a question in Italian, and finally giving up, just asking, “Pitcher…?” The girl’s grin widens, and she jabs her thumb squarely at her chest.

Stumbling through finding out what she pitches is an incredibly painful process, but eventually, through thorough use of dirt diagrams and yelling at each other in slow are-you-stupid voices, he ascertains that she throws a fastball and a curve, has enough control to reliably throw in/out with both and vaguely throw her fastball high/low. He also finds out her name is Simone, and tells her his name is Abe.

And then somehow, he’s stripping off his suit jacket and tucking his tie into one of its pockets, shirtsleeves shoved up to his elbows and a too-small fielder’s mitt squashed on his hand as he crouches at the plate. There are only enough kids to cover the bases, leaving a whopping four kids on the offensive team. Abe wonders what on earth they do normally, but shrugs it off because Sulky is approaching the plate.

Sulky’s stance is untrained, but perhaps because of this, has a loose, cocky flexibility to it that leaves Abe frowning. _Given a couple years and some coaching, this kid might be able to give a pitcher like Mihashi was back then a run for his money. But… Let’s see what he’s capable of right now._ He gives the sign for _fastball, outside, low_ , and then sets up. The pitch comes in at approximately the right place, and he’s so busy being pleased about that, he’s startled by the thick wooden crack of the bat hitting the ball. Sulky doesn’t send it far, laying it down between second and third. There’s a charming scramble to get the ball to first, resulting in laughter when their first baseman and Sulky end up tripping over each other in a heap. It seems universally decided that Sulky’s safe, and then the next kid comes up.

She’s stiffer, but obviously has some awareness of her taller body, standing further back in the box (what there is of it). And she watches Simone’s first pitch carefully, although a couple of the other kids call what he can only assume are jeers at her for it. “Oi! Leave her!” he yells, and even if they don’t understand the words, his disapproval is apparently evident. As is hers when she glances back at him to give him a quelling glare. Eyebrows flicking up, Abe turns his eyes back to Simone. _So…curve, same place._ She shakes her head. Eyebrows quirking down, Abe signs _curve, outside._ She rolls her eyes at him; he narrows his. She gives him a look that clearly communicates _you’re stupid, but here, let me show you._

And sure enough, Long sends the curve flying. The kid on second makes an impressive leap to catch it, leaving Sulky skittering back to first, but it was a decent solid hit, and he finds himself giving Long an assessing look. She ignores him, making a frustrated noise and then jogging out to take over Second’s position and glove. Next up, however, is an anxious-looking kid who chokes up on the bat in a way that leaves Abe nervous about fingers. He swings gamely enough at each of the fastballs Abe has Simone lay down the outside, then droops over in comical defeat at the other kid’s laughter, then jogs happily to take over third when Simone directs him to.

They cycle through all the players except for Simone and himself, and the second time around, they’re able to take Sulky down. Abe smirks nastily until he remembers he doesn’t have a mask on, but fortunately, the only person looking at him at that moment is Simone, and she just makes a similarly nasty face back, then waves Sulky to take over first.

It’s hard to figure a score when they’re all technically on the same team, but just the same, he’s impressed with the number of hits, their decent (if unskilled) cooperation, and Simone’s cool-headed pitching. And even though his thighs are protesting loudly, he’s still disappointed when a buzzers summons the kids back inside. The kids giggle at him when he bows, but then bow back before scooping up their equipment and dashing off to lessons.

Abe chuckles to himself, collecting his abandoned pop bottle and his jacket, slinging that over a shoulder after he’s fetched his phone out.

> [Abe: So. Kids aren’t completely awful and also I need to lie down for approximately the rest of my life.]

He scrolls back up to read Mihashi’s messages, turning his steps in the direction of the hotel again.

> [Ren: Abe was right!]  
>  [Tajima guessed them all.]  
>  [he says you’re a dork though and called you a pitching-baka]
> 
> [Abe: Well, Tajima can go suck it.]
> 
> [Ren: what was Abe doing with kids??]
> 
> [Abe: I got press-ganged into a game of pickup baseball. Was pretty fun. Not as good as playing with you, but…]  
>  [I dunno.]  
>  [Makes me think coaching little league someday might be fun, y’know?]  
>  [More fun if I could actually UNDERSTAND them.]

That’s not the entire scope of where his thoughts had gone, but somehow, that’s not a conversation Abe wants to have via messaging. _Since when is that a conversation I want to have at ALL??_ He scrubs the back of his hand over his still sweaty face, grumbling an irritated noise. Then looks back at his phone when it chimes.

> [Ren: Abe would look cool!]
> 
> [Abe: Is that honestly the first thing you think of…?]
> 
> [Ren: well]  
>  [also]  
>  [Abe would be good because you know so much]  
>  [and you got a lot better at explaining different ways?]  
>  [even if I still didn’t quite get it all the time]  
>  [and Abe is very careful of health stuff!]  
>  [which is important]  
>  [I think you would take good care of kids]  
>  [and I just think]  
>  [I would like coming to watch the games]
> 
> [Abe: You’re banned from any games. You’ll psych the kids out and make us lose.]
> 
> [Ren: no!! I don’t want to make them lose]  
>  [you]  
>  [they wouldn’t]  
>  [get so excited about me]  
>  [would they?]
> 
> [Abe: Well, I suppose with any given group of kids, they might not recognise you.]  
>  [But I’m sure if anyone mentioned there was a professional player watching, they’d flip. Just think how YOU’D have felt as a kid.]  
>  [It’ll be okay. You can just come “in disguise”.]
> 
> [Ren: it’s NOT a disguise!! XP]  
>  [just]  
>  [after that one time]  
>  [Tajima said maybe not to go out regular places with my face all the way uncovered?]
> 
> [Abe: See, I’m pretty sure the second you have to worry about shit like that, you’re in the “would probably make a bunch of baseball-playing kids flip the fuck out” zone.]
> 
> [Ren: nooooooooooooo]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [do you]  
>  [do you think they’d still let me play with them?]  
>  [just a little? :D]
> 
> [Abe: Well, I’D be the coach, so if I decided you were gonna join in on a practice, then you would.]  
>  [Though we’d need to be careful not to push you over your pitch limit.]  
>  [Abe: But I’m sure they’d be happy.]  
>  [Stop worrying about the approval of some hypothetical children.]
> 
> [Ren: I just]  
>  [think it would be nice]  
>  [and I could never]  
>  [I couldn’t do stuff like that]
> 
> [Abe: Probably not general coaching, no.]

He can imagine the face Mihashi’s making in response to that, and, sighing, hurries to add:

> [Abe: But a pitching coach, yes.]  
>  [You’ve worked really hard to get where you are, and we did a lot of work trying to figure out the mechanics of your fastball. You’ve at least learned HOW to pitch pretty much every breaking ball at this point, even if you don’t use them regularly, and you have both a strong kinesthetic sense of what pitching is like with different forms, and an understanding of some of the theory behind it. And BECAUSE you’re not as smart or as likely to fall into jargon, you’ll be able to explain it in a way that will make sense to a non-professional and/or child.]

Lips twitching, Abe eyes that last message: _not exactly the most tactful way to put it, but true, and hopefully, Mihashi’ll pay more attention to the positive bits_.

> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [that was]  
>  [kind of rude]

Abe stares at the screen for a moment, then bursts out laughing, delighted.

> [Ren: but thank you]  
>  [if I ever got to]  
>  [I’d like that a lot!!]  
>  [it’d be fun to help someone else like I was helped back then…]
> 
> [Abe: Good.]  
>  [Sorry; wasn’t sure how to say what I meant in a more polite way.]  
>  [But I’d like that. We could be a different kind of team.]  
>  [I’ll take care of most of it, and you can come in and whip my pitchers into shape!]  
>  [Speaking of which, you shoulda seen the power this girl had. She’s gonna have one hell of an arm when she’s older. Has one hell of an arm NOW.]
> 
> [Ren: That would be fun!!]  
>  [And Tajima and Hanai could come teach batting sometimes!!]  
>  [maybe everyone would come help!]  
>  [and (O◇O) cool!! I hope she likes playing…]
> 
> [Abe: I don’t know if I trust Tajima with kids.]  
>  [Although he’d probably love it…and he still acts like a bratty kid half the time, himself…]  
>  [Me too. Wish I coulda told HER that, but then again, she seems plenty dedicated all on her own.]  
>  [Heh, wonder if she has a target set up at home? Her accuracy’s a far cry from what yours was, even back then, but it was pretty impressive for a kid.]
> 
> [Ren: wow]  
>  [I think that’d be fun]  
>  [making a set-up like that again with a kid!]  
>  [like Dad did with me]

Abe stares down at the messages, slowly turning a vibrant shade of red.

> [Abe: Yeah I guess that’d be pretty fun]  
>  [Look I just ran into a coworker. Gotta go.]  
>  [I’ll talk to you later, okay?]
> 
> [Ren: okay…]
> 
> [Abe: And don’t forget to take me a picture.]
> 
> [Ren: okay!!]  
>  [☆*:.｡.\\(＾◇＾)/.｡.:*☆]

Abe gives his phone a half-smile, then shoves it in his pocket, steps quick as though he could somehow put more distance between himself and his thoughts.

* * *

> [05:42pm]  
>  {A photo, taken in landscape-orientation. The moonlight that had been a thin silver glaze when Abe left now spills bright enough through the window behind the phone to make quicksilver pools of Mihashi’s eyes, transform his face, shoulders, bare chest, into a soft, ethereal landscape. He lies on his side, smiling slightly, one hand curled next to his cheek on the pillow.}

Stunned and again flushed, Abe stares at the picture for long enough for the screen to dim, steps slowing. Straggling beside him, Konno rockets into his shoulder, poking the screen to wake it back up, then staring perplexed at Abe’s face.

“Whoa, I didn’t realise gay guys were so _mushy_.”

“Shut up.” Abe punches him in the shoulder but he doesn’t particularly mean it.

> [Abe: Perfect.]  
>  [By the way:]  
>  {A series of photos of a crumbling rock wall, some of them a little blurry. At first glance, there is nothing special about it, or the few wildflowers and grasses growing below it. But upon closer inspection, we can see several tiny, violently green lizards sunning themselves on the tumbled rocks, and even one tiny lizard clinging to a plant stalk.}  
>  [Thought you’d like these little guys. They must’ve still been sleeping this morning, so had to go back later.]
> 
> [Ren: ☆*:.｡.\\(O◇O)/.｡.:*☆]  
>  [ABE]  
>  [THEY’RE TOO CUTE]
> 
> [Abe: Yes. Now go to sleep.]  
>  [<3]
> 
> [Ren: <3]

* * *

**Day 6**

 

> [08:01am]  
>  [Ren: The sleepy Abe picture is perfect too]
> 
> [08:43am]  
>  [Abe: Good.]  
>  [I was sure exhausted and sore, so I hope that came through properly.]  
>  [Took another bath first, though, and that helped.]
> 
> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [did you]  
>  [:D]
> 
> [Abe: No, I didn’t jerk off in the damn bath.]
> 
> [Ren: (o;TωT)o]
> 
> [Abe: But I DID think about you, so don’t sulk.]
> 
> [Ren: (*ﾟ◯ﾟ*)]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [when you come home]  
>  [since we’ll be together]  
>  [will we take baths together?]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t see why not. Seems more efficient, that way. My tub’s definitely big enough for both of us, though it won’t be the most comfortable thing.]  
>  [But I won’t mind.]
> 
> [Ren: (//∇//)]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [can we]  
>  [make out and stuff]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: That seems inevitable.]
> 
> Ren: ( ；｀ヘ´)]  
>  [Abe doesn’t sound very excited about it]
> 
> [Abe: Of COURSE I am.]  
>  {A photo of Abe, the hotel dining room behind him and a mug in hand. He is “grinning” ferociously.}  
>  [See? In what way is that not the face of a man who is ECSTATIC at the prospect of being crammed into a barely-adequately sized tub with you?]
> 
> [Ren: (´つヮ⊂)]
> 
> [Abe: That’s better. I think.]  
>  [Man, I miss having a NORMAL breakfast. This stuff is good, but it’s not the same.]  
>  [No]  
>  [Scratch that]  
>  [I miss YOUR breakfasts.]  
>  [We’ll have to get out of the bath long enough for you to make me some breakfast, ‘kay?]
> 
> [Ren: ☆*:.｡.(//◇//).｡.:*☆]  
>  [if you want]  
>  [I’ll make a fancy breakfast every day while I’m there!!]
> 
> [Abe: You don’t have to go to all that effort.]  
>  [But we’ll see.]  
>  [Might not let you out of bed, some days.]
> 
> [Ren: ☆*:.｡./)////◇////(\\.｡.:*☆]  
>  [but]  
>  [Abe]  
>  [what if I have to pee]
> 
> [Abe: OMFG OF COURSE I’LL LET YOU GO PEE, YOU DITZ.]  
>  [I’M TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC OR SOMETHING, HERE.]
> 
> [Ren: it’s okay]  
>  [Abe tried his best]
> 
> [Abe: Mihashi, was that…sarcastic?]
> 
> [Ren: maybe]  
>  [uvu]
> 
> [Abe: I’m DEFINITELY tackling you when I get home.]  
>  [Gonna tickle you until you can’t fucking breathe.]
> 
> [Ren: y( ꒪◊꒪)y]
> 
> [Abe: Is that supposed to be your face now or your face then?]
> 
> [Ren: XP]  
>  [SOMEDAY I’m gonna find a way to get Abe back T^T]
> 
> [Abe: Good luck with that. I still outweigh you by a substantial margin and am immune to most special attacks.]
> 
> [Ren: (= n =)]
> 
> [Ren: I won’t make you breakfast]
> 
> [Abe: Okay, that’s just unfair and uncalled for.]
> 
> [Ren: don’t care!!]
> 
> [Abe: Fine. I promise I PROBABLY won’t tickle you until you do that cute thing where you can’t even laugh anymore and just make pathetic gasping noises while lying there like an overwhelmed kitten.]
> 
> [Ren: DO NOT]  
>  [NOT CUTE]  
>  [XP]
> 
> [Abe: No, that’s EXACTLY what you do, and it’s hilariously adorable.]  
>  [Sometimes I worry you’re gonna hurl, though.]
> 
> [Ren: GROSS]  
>  [I WOULDN’T]
> 
> [Abe: Good, ‘cause I’d be pissed.]  
>  [ANYWAY, as much fun as this is, I need to get moving. There’s not much left to do, here, just a lot of boring standing around and shuffling papers, but we still have to show up for some reason.]
> 
> [Ren: but]  
>  [you’re almost done, then?]  
>  [:D]
> 
> [Abe: Yeah.]  
>  [We’ll be on schedule coming home.]
> 
> [Abe: Wish it was sooner.]
> 
> [Ren: me too]  
>  [but]  
>  [it’s kind of fun, right?]  
>  [to miss someone?]  
>  [even though it hurts]

Now back in the hotel room, Abe shrugs into his suit jacket, then leans back against the desk, looking down at the message with a wistful half-smile.

> [Abe: Yeah, though maybe “fun” isn’t exactly the right word.]  
>  [And I think I’ve spent more than enough of my life missing you.]

He hits send, and then stares in slight horror at the message, then slowly slides down the front of the desk to sit with his hand an inadequate shield from his own words, from the thoughts tumbling though him, from _I don’t ever want to miss you without knowing I’ll be coming home to you again. I don’t ever want you to live only in my memories and as a tiny figure on the TV._

> [Ren: Abe…]

_Fuck, I’ve overstepped the line. Majorly._

> {A photo: it’s a little blurry. Mihashi’s face and shoulders are in view, a fluffy towel draped over his neck, a corner clutched up over his mouth, one upturned corner still visible. His nose is red, and his eyes look glassy.}  
>  [Ren: Abe]  
>  [I never]  
>  [I never thought anyone would say something like that to me]
> 
> [Abe: Wh  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--  
>  [Of cour  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--

He watches the cursor blink for far too long, then heaves himself to his feet.

> [Abe: Yeah, I need to go.]  
>  [Talk to you later.]
> 
> [Ren: Abe?]

* * *

 

He’s not sure whether to be glad or disappointed that the closing talks require very little of his attention. Not that he can really straighten out his thoughts, anyway, no, they just rush and tumble and dodge things he’s been avoiding since…well, since the first time he’d held Mihashi’s hand in his own. And they only circle around him tighter and tighter each time cleaning together turns into playfighting and then smooching and then just holding each other close, each time he watches an overexcited Mihashi run ahead but always, always turn back with a look that says _I knew you were still there but I’m happy anyway_ , each time those beloved callused fingers press into the curve of his thigh in the car, twine with his own on the path up to a parents’ house, cup his cheek or reach for him when the movie gets scary or god, when Mihashi can tell he’s getting frustrated or annoyed.

Konno elbows him in the ribs. “Come on, I think they wanna take pictures. Try not to look like a yakuza with a broom up his butt.”

“I _don’t_ …” Abe huffs out an irritated breath and tries to relax his face. It probably works; at least no one tells him any different while they’re ushering everyone into position. He suffers through the photos and the interminable hand-shaking; he’s praying to whatever god oversees business transactions that it will end at that, but he’s honestly unsurprised when his pleas go unanswered. They’re invited out to somebody’s house, he misses whose. Not like it matters when he has every intention of developing a spectacular and unarguable migraine when he gets back to the hotel to change.

Except that, some ten minutes after he sends off his polite but firm email to a supervisor, there’s banging on his door. _God damnit._ He’s glad he’d already drawn the curtains and switched off the lights, and hopefully his normal grumpy expression will make him look haggard enough to convince whoever it is. With a sigh, he opens the door.

“Bullshit, you’re sick!”

“I didn’t say sick, I said migraine, so—”

Already pushing past him into the room, Miura grabs the front of his shirt and hauling him down to eye level. “If you abandon me to all those boring old people and fucking _Konno_ , I am going to _end_ you. With a _pen._ ”

Abe has a moment to consider how lucky he is to have a brother. “Am I really all that much more charming than our other coworkers?”

“Yes, you are, even if you won’t stop mooning over your damn phone every few minutes like a teen.”

“I do _not_ ‘moon’ over—”

“You absolutely _do_.” Miura turns, hauling him over to the closet. “Do you have a nicer suit…? Maybe this…” She reaches over, switching on the lights. And looking over at Abe sharply, which is when he realises his mistake. “Knew it, you were _totally_ faking.”

“So? If you’re so unenthused, pretend _you_ have a migraine, too.”

She jerks her head at him disbelievingly. “There’s going to be _food_. Fancy foreign _rich-people_ food. And probably an open bar. Come with me so we can get drunk and judge people.”

Abe finally knocks away her grip, stepping away. “I’m not your goddamn ‘sassy gay friend’.” _This is why I fucking hate being out to people._

She just rolls her eyes, pulling one of his suits out. “So come and drunkenly tell me more than I ever wanted to know about baseball or whatever other boring crap you’re into, and _I’ll_ take care of judging everyone.” She slaps the hanger against his chest.

“Gee, I can tell you’re _so_ thrilled to be—”

“Quit whining. Just be grateful no one expects _you_ to wear heels.”

Abe takes the suit and his belt from her, finally actually registering she’s wearing a jewel-tone green dress with a broad white stripe running off-centre down the front. Its straight lines look a little matronly to him, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t know. “You brought that just in case?”

Miura huffs an impatient noise, turning her attention to his shirts. “If you’re a lady, you don’t get to go anywhere without having a dressy outfit. _You_ can show up in jeans and a suit jacket and have it seem carefree and stylish; _I’d_ look like a slob.”

“So?” He steps past her to lay the suit out on the bed, stripping out of his t-shirt and then the track pants he’d changed into before grabbing the trousers.

“Ah, I see why he went for you, despite your _sparkling_ personality.”

Abe looks over his shoulder with a disgusted expression and then chucks his wadded-up t-shirt at her. _I wish it was dirty._ “Don’t be gross.”

“I’m just saying, there was a lot of speculation as to how _you_ ended up with a star athlete boyfriend.” _WHY DO YOU PEOPLE CARE??_ “You’re kind of prickly, y’know? And…from what other people were saying, Mihashi’s shy but pretty outgoing. I think I caught a bit of an interview with him once; he was an absolute sweetheart.” She comes around to his side, shoving a deep indigo pinstriped shirt at him. “You have such boring clothes. Where are your ties?”

He jerks his head at the suitcase, sliding his arms into the shirt’s sleeves. “ _Mihashi_ likes this one,” he mutters, disliking how defensive he sounds.

“I’m sure he does. Tsk, _jocks_.” She tosses her head in a way that assures him she’s rolling her eyes.

“It has _nothing_ to do with that. And I’m _not_ , anyway. I just don’t feel the need,” he wrinkles his nose as he does up the last few buttons, “to be fancy.”

“Fancy. You don’t think your boyfriend would enjoy it, every once in a while?” Frowning, Miura holds up a subtly patterned silver tie, then a blue one with rust stripes against his shirt, handing him the grey one.

“Our relationship…it’s not like that.” Miura watches him with her hands on her hips as he lines up the seams and then ties the tie. “Sorry to disappoint. We’re very boring.”

“Apparently. If you ask me,” _I didn’t,_ “everyone likes a little romance once in a while.”

“ _I_ don’t. I just want…” He avoids her bright gaze, trying not to think about wishes or Mihashi’s hands or how much he’d give to be getting on a plane right now. “Look, they must be waiting for us downstairs.” He steps over to the desk, fishing his wallet and keycard out of the jacket he’d been wearing earlier.

Miura follows him towards the door. “You have all the social grace of a dead skunk.”

He throws a toothy grin over his shoulder. “And _you’re_ the one who’s so desperate to hang out with me.”

“I’m a very optimistic person,” she huffs as the door clacks shut behind them.

* * *

 

It’s not nearly as awful as he’d feared, mostly because Miura’s correct in her prediction of delicious food. Innumerable plates of bruschetta, toped with fresh or roasted vegetables and flavourful spreads he can’t put a name to; thinly-sliced preserved meats, either delicately fanned on a plate with more cheeses than Abe had been aware existed, wrapped in little bundles around cubes of fruit or luscious vegetables, or arranged on tiny skewers. Fried things he can’t identify but are utterly delicious, including something he’s _thrilled_ to find is essentially deep-fried cheesy onigiri.

Abe also quickly finds that the more he can manage to always be eating or drinking, the less anyone seems to expect him to contribute to any of the conversations he has the misfortune to wander into. Miura, for her part, seems perfectly happy to dive in, even with her somewhat sketchy Italian and somewhat better English; Abe begins to suspect she dragged him along more so he could serve as a convenient plate/glass holder.

He very pointedly and somewhat resentfully does _not_ moon over his phone even a _little_ , and if it’s also out of a desire to avoid Mihashi, well, Miura doesn’t need to know that.

Mihashi never strays far from his thoughts, though, whether it’s wondering if he would like this or that food, if he’d be willing to try making it at home, or a stray comment from someone that brings him to mind. He finds himself staring out over their hosts’ garden while he sips on the third glass of wine Miura’s shoved into his hand, imagining walking hand-in-hand down the white pebbled path with Mihashi, sitting on one of the benches in the dying sunset, having to stop Mihashi from tumbling into the small pond he can see further away… He does fish his phone out then, setting his glass down so he can hold it steadier (wait, was that his third or his fourth glass?) He looks down at the dim photo screen for a moment, considering, then opens Snapchat instead, taking another photo and adding, [Thought abt being w/you here.] He smiles down at the picture as it sends.

When he turns back, his glass of wine has been whisked away by some overeager server. Abe shrugs and wanders back over to Miura where she’s laughing at some joke.

She grabs his arm, unsteadily hauling him over. “Oh my god, show them the pictures!”

“Eh?”

“The cute ones of your boyfriend!”

“They’re _all_ c—” He decides he doesn’t want to finish that sentence, even though he’s already blushing tellingly. He peers around the gaggle of elegant women staring at him expectantly, then breathes out a tired sigh, fishing his phone out. There’s a Snapchat notification waiting for him.

> [The photo itself is a dark blur of ceiling that leaves Abe wincing guiltily; drawn over top are Mihashi and Abe and a vague impression of a garden. They are holding hands, Mihashi is smooching Abe’s cheek, and a small heart floats above them.]

Abe is grateful he’s _not_ holding any glassware at the moment because Miura practically _screams_. He looks over at her, appalled. “What the _HELL?_ ”

“Show it! Show it! You didn’t tell me he sent you cute stuff like _this!_ You’ve been holding out on me…” She cries out again when the picture disappears, smacking his arm repeatedly. “Why didn’t you cap it? _Ugh_. Fine, come on, show them the pyjamas one…”

Abe gives the ceiling an exceptionally put-upon look before tapping through to his photos. Only at that point remembering their activity of two nights before. _WHY THE HELL DIDN’T I DELETE THOSE?_ He tries not to acknowledge the part of him that says _because maybe I’d like to look at them again sometime_ and holds the phone closer to his face where Miura can’t see. He hurriedly taps on the first of Mihashi’s photos, then holds it out for the circle of women to examine. There’s gasping and giggling and exclamations he assumes are along the lines of “How cute!” Abe does his best not to roll his eyes.

The sudden thought hits him, looking around at this circle of not unattractive (he supposes) women cooing over Mihashi, how… _lucky_ he is. Not that he’s not sure Mihashi feels the same way about him, but…

There was the text exchange he’d had last fall, while Mihashi was off visiting Tajima for his birthday:

> [10:43pm]  
>  [From: Unknown]  
>  [Subject: hey abe!!]  
>  [thx]
> 
> [10:45pm]  
>  [From: Abe]  
>  [Subject: Tajima…?]  
>  [What for?]
> 
> [10:45pm]  
>  [From: Tajima]  
>  [Subject: yeah it’s me!]  
>  [for makin him happy, ya doof!]

Abe had been left staring at the text, unsure how to respond, when the next one came:

> [10:47pm]  
>  [From: Tajima]  
>  [Subject: idk man]  
>  [like…he’s usually p. happy about it if he’s dating ANYOE but not like this. I could tell just when we talked but even more seein him.]
> 
> [10:47pm]  
>  [From: Tajima]  
>  [Subject: but]  
>  [if u ever fuckin break his heart, I’m gonna break you’re face. maybe other parts.]
> 
> [10:48pm]  
>  [From: Abe]  
>  [Subject: Re: but]  
>  [I’ll keep that in mind, but don’t worry: I don’t intend to.]

Which, in retrospect, leaves him wishing he could go back in time and destroy his phone and hoping Tajima hadn’t related the conversation to Mihashi. Hoping to keep the others distracted, he (careful to keep the screen out of view) switches it to the picture of Mihashi lying gorgeous in his bath of moonlight. Part of him cringes at showing something so intimate, but it buys him some space to think.

_Then again…what exactly is it I’m so afraid of? Him knowing how I feel?_

_And just what IS it that I feel?_

_There are way too many people around and way too much alcohol in my system for this shit right now._

But once his mind has identified a problem, it won’t let go, no matter how ill-equipped he feels to deal with it at the moment, no matter how much he wants to jam it back down and forget about it because then things could stay _easy_. They might not move forward, but they wouldn’t move back or take a sudden turn.

_But we learned long ago that we can’t just stay the same._

The women are now exclaiming over someone else’s photos, much to his relief; he gives the picture held out to him a perfunctory nod, then scans around for one of the conveniently always available trays of drinks.

_Fuck it. I’m NOT thinking about this. I’m getting drunk._

When Miura sees him with another glass in hand, she cheers and then berates him for not grabbing her one as well.

* * *

After a certain point, the evening gets a little fuzzy. Time seems to compress and extend alarmingly, and the lights are a glittering latticework above him, slurring in his vision beautifully. He’s confident he manages not to make an ass of himself—he’s quite good at acting a lot more sober than he is. The same can’t be said for Konno, who ends up holed up in one of the hosts’ bathrooms, or Kawaguchi-san, who keeps trying to hit on any woman under 30 he can find (probably for the best that most can’t understand him; Abe’s not sure he or Miura will quite be able to recover after the things they have heard).

Abe’s only really been drunk a few times in his life: once on his 21st birthday at his father’s insistence (and with his mother’s stern disapproval), and perhaps once or twice after a particularly stunning win on his university’s baseball team. He finds the experience still has little to recommend it, particularly not while trying to keep Konno upright in the back of a taxi between himself and Konno’s roommate. As they half-drag him down the hotel’s hallway, Miura runs along in front of them, giggling like a kid, heels gripped in one hand. She keys open the door, and they manage to get Konno on his side in bed with enough of his clothes off and a garbage can conveniently to hand. Abe very deliberately ignores the older man’s insinuations that perhaps it was going to be rather unpleasant to share a room with Konno-kun tonight, perhaps something a younger man might be better suited to. Abe pats Konno on the shoulder a couple times, then lurches towards the door, calling a goodbye over his shoulder.

He can hear Miura’s light footsteps following him, so he graciously doesn’t yank the door closed behind him. She smacks into his shoulder, snickering. “Poor Okubo-san…”

“I think he can still hear you.”

Miura presses her lips together as they stumble down the hall together, bursting out laughing as they reach the elevator. “You shoulda offered your room.”

“I know.” Abe jabs the call button, then the one for his own floor, moving aside so Miura can find hers.

“Oooooh, you’re a _rebel!_ Someone’s gonna put it inna report when we get home!”

“And _I_ …don’t give a fuck.” He gives her a toothy grin. “I don’t wanna spend my night playing nursemaid.”

Miura slaps hands against her cheeks. “Oh my goodness! So… _what_ , then,” she elbows him, “you got somethin’ better to do?”

“Huh?”

She stares back at him, an eyebrow twitching up; Abe looks back at her in impassive question. “I mean like… Oh, you’re hopeless!” She swats him with her heels; Abe barks out a protest that she doesn’t seem particularly disposed to care about.

She’s saved from any retaliation by the ding of the elevator reaching her floor; the doors slide open, and Miura takes a step towards them. Then turns back.

Nervous dismay clenches in his chest as she moves closer to him, arms rising to slide loosely around his neck. But she just rubs her cheek against his shoulder. Behind her, the doors slide shut, and the elevator climbs once again.

“You’re so tense! You think I was gonna stick my tongue down your throat?” Abe shifts uncomfortably, not quite willing to say that _yes_ , that was _exactly_ what he was worried about. Miura leans back, giving him a stern look. “I promise I’m not gonna give you any gross girl cooties!” She giggles, swaying.

“You missed your floor.”

“Yeah, but this is _important,_ ‘kay, you…you… _dour_ , boring old man. Because…because I’m glad we got to know each other better, right?” She makes a pensive face, ruined by the fact that she’s slightly smudged her makeup on his suit lapel. “Was kinda worried, because, y’know? I only know a coupla people on this trip at _all_ , so…” She hugs him again. “When we get back home, even when we’re back, we’re gonna be _friends_ , ‘kay? And you’re…you’re gonna introduce me to your cute boyfriend, so…so I can pinch his cute cheeks in _person_ , ‘kay?”

Abe finds it in himself to relax, patting her on the back. “Sure.” He thinks he might actually mean it. The elevator doors open once again; he extricates himself from Miura with a last pat on the shoulder. “Make it to your room safe, right?”

“Psssh, SURE, _dad_.” Miura waves at him cheerily as the doors close; Abe staggers down the hall and into his room.

Tonight, the room feels crowded.

Memories and thoughts and dreams, oh, so many dreams he’s afraid to put words to but that will not be ignored tonight. Abe kicks off his shoes and reels over to the bed, flopping down to shove his face into pillows that offer no protection from his own mind.

After a moment, he rolls over on his back, squinting painedly at the ceiling when the sensation of spinning holds on a little too long. He hauls his phone out of his pocket, staring at its glossy black surface, then drops it on the bed beside him. Then picks it up again.

_He’s probably still asleep. He won’t answer._

_But not so early that if it DOES wake him up…_

> [10:46pm]  
>  [Abe: I wanna hear your voice]

_Stay asleep, Mihashi._

He holds the phone against his chest, as if keeping it there would bring Mihashi just that little bit closer, as if it could substitute for the feel of combing his fingers through Mihashi’s hair, for the small weight of him pressing Abe down, for the light rise and fall of his ribs, not the unsteady shallow breaths when he’s panicked, no, that oceanic swell and fall at the edge of sleep.

His phone chimes.

> [Ren: Abe…?]  
>  [but you’re home tonight, right?]
> 
> [Abe: Don’t give a shit]  
>  [Scratch that]  
>  [DO give a shit]  
>  [Wanna be home right]  
>  [Now]
> 
> [Ren: me too!!]  
>  [actually]  
>  [I was]

Abe squints at the screen, trying to be patient.

> [Ren: kind of sad]  
>  [yesterday?]  
>  [because]  
>  [after saying something so nice]  
>  [Abe just kind of]  
>  [um]  
>  [disappeared]  
>  [well]  
>  [maybe I wasn't sad exactly]  
>  [maybe I was]  
>  [a little cross]  
>  [so]  
>  [but still]  
>  [I just]  
>  [I felt like maybe I said something wrong??]
> 
> [Abe: I'm sorry. You didn’t]

Abe inhales and exhales slowly.

> [Abe: You wanna talk or no?]
> 
> [Ren: is Abe]  
>  [mad]
> 
> [Abe: NO]  
>  [I’m a little drunk]  
>  [Okay maybe a lot drunk]  
>  [A lot of wine and boring people happened to me]
> 
> [Ren: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Abe drunk…]
> 
> [Abe: It’s honestly, not that exciting.]  
>  [Kinda wish I hadn’t, but I was feeli  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--  
>  [Look, you  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--  
>  [I’m gonna regret a LOTTA things in the mor  
>  <\-- <\-- <\--
> 
> [Ren: Abe]  
>  [I]  
>  [okay I kind of]  
>  [came over to your place again OTL]  
>  [so]  
>  [I don’t have mine]  
>  [but I found Abe’s old one]  
>  [so]  
>  [maybe we could]  
>  [?]
> 
> [Abe: Wtf are you on about]  
>  [Laptop?]  
>  [You're talking about my old laptop]
> 
> [Ren: yeah!! (＾◇＾)]

Mouth quirking in a grin, Abe heaves himself to his feet and fetches his laptop out of his bag. After a second’s thought, he sets it down on the small table, flopping into one of the chairs.

> [Abe: Skype?]

He’s already opening it, though as soon as the little pop indicates he’s logged in, he sets his status to “invisible”. _The last thing I want is Mom taking it into her head to have a “quick chat” while we’re…_

Abe swallows, feeling warmth in his cheeks that has nothing to do with the alcohol. _Talking. While we’re talking._

Mihashi’s little circle blips online and Abe clicks through to call quickly. He fidgets impatiently while it connects, the gasps out a relieved breath when Mihashi appears on the screen. With a soft laugh that has just the slightest touch of the happy tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, he pushes the laptop back a little, slouching over the table with his hand pushing up into his hair.

Gaze flicking between the screen and the camera, Mihashi adjusts the angle, smiling one of those uncertain little smiles. Behind him, Abe can see the head of his bed in pale dawn light and the brighter glow from the lamp; it leaves him a curl of warmth in his stomach that he tries not to let show on his face. The pillows are missing; it seems Mihashi’s using them to prop up the computer. He kneels a little tensely, and Abe tries not to acknowledge his disappointment that he’s wearing the sheep pyjamas again.

“Hey.”

Mihashi startles at his voice but then smiles a little easier, though he still fusses with a button. “Hi! Um… Abe was at a party?”

“Yeah, there was a wrap-up event. Annoying, but good food.” He peers at Mihashi closer. “You’re worried about something. Why’re you worried?”

Mihashi jumps again, eyes darting around the room. “Nn…noth…” Abe pulls a face; _is he seriously gonna lie?_ Turned away, Mihashi peeks at him out of the corner of his eyes, then slowly faces him. “Abe will think it’s stupid.”

“Probably.” Abe stifles a groan, dropping his face on to his arm for a second. “Still want you to tell me.”

Mihashi considers the screen a moment longer, lower lip caught in his teeth, then looks down at the keyboard or his hands. “I was…I kind of…this is the longest it’s been without seeing Abe in a long time, and…so…so I worried…I thought, maybe, that…that Abe…” Abe raises his head, eyes narrowing as he examines Mihashi’s face. “Maybe Abe…because…I d-don’t sound good, and…and I don’t…I don’t look good, so Abe would be disapp—”

“OH my GOD, what…what _idiot_ stuff is going on in your brain, sometimes??” _That was…maybe less than gentle. Maybe talking was not the greatest idea._ “Mihashi.” He grips the edges of the screen, staring into the camera as though force of will alone could convey his feelings. And then shakes the screen lightly, repeating, “ _Mihashi_. I love you. I…” Words catch in his throat, to hard to speak, but he can’t distract with a kiss, with pulling Mihashi’s head against his shoulder, with suddenly deciding to put on some tea. Just Mihashi looking between the screen and the camera expectantly.

Mihashi’s forehead wrinkles into a frown again. “Abe-kun doesn’t…doesn’t…”

 _This is ALSO fucking mortifying, but at least…_ “I was actually kind of hoping you’d be shirtless.”

“Eh??” Mihashi flushes an appealing pink, eyes wide.

“You were shirtless in the nighttime photo. But now clothes. ‘S not fair.” Abe smirks. “I showed it to ladies at the party. They think you’re hot, but,” his grin widens, “you’re _mine_.”

Mihashi squeaks, turning a vibrant red as he squirms in place a second before yanking up the front of his shirt and attempting to hide behind it.

Abe stares at him for a beat, then bursts out laughing. He attempts to stifle it on the back of his hand as he looks back up, eyes finding the paler squishiness of Mihashi’s belly, the just visible curves of his abs and obliques, the little dip of his bellybutton, the cathedral arch of his ribs as he sucks in quick breaths, and oh, oh, when his gaze drags up, Mihashi peeking over his tight fists and the soft fabric with wonder in his eyes that leaves Abe hoping _maybe I don’t have to voice this stuff after all_.

Mihashi lets the hem drop; Abe starts to grumble a protest but swallows it when Mihashi immediately reaches for his back collar, hauling his shirt up. And getting it stuck on his head. Embarrassed, he blinks at Abe for a second, then fumbles the top couple buttons undone and finally drags the shirt free, tossing it to the side. Leaving him panting and ruffled and still flushed bright, bright, and god, even in the dim light and with the crappy webcam image, looking so _alive_ and gorgeous that every fibre of Abe’s body burns with how much he wants to _touch_.

“Perfect,” he breathes out, voice low and more than a little rough already.

Mihashi squawks again, hands slapping over his face, but then lets them slip down to fidget and flutter in front of him. His eyes skitter over the screen and away. “Um. I’m…I’m…like this, now, but…but Abe is… Abe is wearing a l- _lot_ of clothes, so…so…” A smile curves his lips; his nervousness is so obviously melting into excitement and Abe can’t get enough of it. He shifts fitfully in his seat, then shoves to his feet.

“Oh? You don’t like the suit? Miura said I oughta dress fancier for you.” He tips the screen until he can see most of his body in the small thumbnail, then does a wobbly turn, finally snorting out a laugh when he can see Mihashi again. “Shows what _she_ knows.”

Mihashi leans closer to the screen, mouth falling open slightly. “Abe looks…the suit looks good! I…” he glances off to the side, hand coming up to cover his mouth, “I like when Abe dresses up. A…a _lot_. But…but…” he looks up into the camera, lip caught in his teeth as he gathers himself, “I like you best w-without clothes!”

It’s such an obvious and banal assertion, he wants to laugh, but there’s an endearing brazen seriousness in Mihashi’s face, and filtered sunlight kissing his shoulder and leaving the dips of his collarbones in fuzzy shadow, and as much as embarrassment creeps up Abe’s spine, blood pumps to his dick, leaving him leaning forward on the table so he can look closer, closer at Mihashi’s face.

He shoves himself back quickly, though, yanking the suit jacket down his arms to drop to the floor behind him, then reaches up to loosen his tie. Mihashi hiccups in a little gasp, eyes pinned, Abe’s sure, to the quick, short movements of his fingers as he unties the knot, to the way he lets the silky material slip through one hand with a soft hiss, then tosses it on top of his jacket. He hesitates, then pulls his shirttail out of his pants before starting in on the top button, his eyes on the clumsy movements of his fingers then slipping up to Mihashi on the screen.

“Slow, like this? Or you want me to just haul it off like y—”

There’s a loud whoop from outside, and Abe has the sudden horrifying thought that maybe they’ve been overheard. The voices continue in Italian; he breathes a sigh of relief but still staggers to the window, pulling the sash down hard and making absolutely sure the curtains are fully drawn. He returns to hover over the computer, frowning and pushing the screen back so he can see better.

Mihashi is staring at something on the screen, flushed again; Abe glances down, but can’t see anything of interest. When he looks back up, Mihashi’s flushed, eyes off to the side. He glances back coyly. “A-Abe, are we…are we going to do “that” again?”

He has a pretty good idea what Mihashi means, and yes, _god_ yes, he wants to watch him in real time, track the spread of that blush and see the sweat collect on his face and chest and lean legs and the curve of his neck, and fuck, watch the gorgeous contortions of his face when he comes and the dreamy love-struck expression that follows and will cut through him with longing in the most delicious way, but Abe still pulls a sour face and asks, “Do _what?_ ”

“Um…” Mihashi leans his hands on his knees, fidgety with shyness and arousal. “I want…I want us to…I want…” he leans closer to the camera, blinking into it earnestly even as his voice softens to a whisper, “I want to watch Abe come.”

Abe’s lips quirk, even as heat climbs his spine. “What, you’re just gonna _watch?_ ”

Mihashi twitches, eyes widening, then examines his hands. “W-well, if that’s what Abe wanted, but—”

“I’m kidding, you dork. I want,” it’s his turn to lurch close to the screen, staring intently into the camera, “to see you. With your hand. Each of your gorgeous, _perfect_ fingers curled tight around your dick, and I want to hear the sound it makes while you beat off, and fuck, Mihashi, I wanna hear you, I just…I really want to hear _you._ ”

“O-oh…” There’s embarrassed tension in Mihashi’s body, but his lips curve in a sweet smile.

Abe turns the laptop, flopping down on the edge of the bed, fingers returning to his open collar. “So…?”

“Slow!” Mihashi hunches his shoulders, mouth pressed tightly closed, but examines Abe hopefully. “I liked…I want…slow…”

Abe quirks an eyebrow but still slips his hands down to the next button, pushing it through under Mihashi’s rapt gaze. Still, it doesn’t take him long before he drops the shirt and pushes to his feet. He’s pulling his belt free of the buckle when Mihashi makes a small noise.

“What? Something wrong?”

“No! Not…not wrong…” Mihashi wriggles, eyes darting around. “Just…um…I was thinking,” his eyes settle on the screen, “um, maybe…if Abe wanted to…touch it…th-through pants…?”

Abe squints at him for a second before shrugging. Then arching an eyebrow. “Is that what you were looking at before?”

“E-eh??” Mihashi flushes, but his betraying eyes are drawn down to the screen when Abe rises to his feet.

He crosses the small distance slowly, one thumb tucked behind his belt, watching the way Mihashi’s shoulders rise with each lightly panted breath, the way his lids dip lower over eyes fixed on the screen. Lips tracing a crooked curve, Abe lets his fingers slide down the silky front of his pants, down to splay his fingers over the bulge. Abe hisses out a breath, adjusting his dick so it’s comfortable and then pressing his palm in a slow rub up the front of his pants.

Mihashi releases a heavy sigh before glancing up at the camera. “I want…I wish I could touch you…”

“Soon.” Abe slides his hand back down, curling his fingers around the base and letting the heel of his palm press lightly against his balls. He can’t quite see, but he doesn’t think Mihashi’s started yet. _Gonna fix that in a sec._ “But for now, all you can do is watch.” His other hand feels heavy where it rests on his belt.

“No!” Mihashi flinches, one hand slapping over his mouth. “I mean! I…b-because…” he looks away, then glances back shyly, “because I can tell you to do stuff…?”

Abe tips back the screen so Mihashi can see his smile. “’Course. You mean like the other night, when I told you what to do? You wanna tell me stuff tonight?”

Mihashi starts nodding but then shakes his head vigorously. He curls his hands in front of his chest. “Th-that’s…a little…scary…”

“But you just did it.”

“I did?? I did.” Mihashi plinks at him as though this were some great revelation; Abe tries not to roll his eyes. “But that…I… It’s sort of…” He dips his chin, looking away. “I d-don’t think I’d like that…”

Abe watches him for a moment, then shrugs. “Fine with me. But it might be fun sometime. I’m curious what you’d come up with.”

Mihashi’s cheeks darken; he shakes his head. “It’d…it’d probably be boring…”

“Quit saying shit like that.” Abe flicks a hand dismissively.

Mihashi’s sitting with his chin pulled towards his chest, a sulky expression on his face. “Abe…don’t be mean. I’m trying.”

Abe drops into the chair, pulling the laptop around. “I know, I know. Sorry.” He smiles, broader when Mihashi glances up. “I get frustrated.” _This is probably the sort of shit we should talk about when I’m home and sober._ Though he’s definitely losing his buzz, not that he’s complaining. _Less chance I’ll say something I’m not ready to._ “So…what _would_ you like?”

Mihashi’s pout returns, but this time it’s playful. “Abe is still asking _me_.”

“What, I’m not allowed to ask you _anything_ , now? You expect _me_ to come up with everything? How’s _that_ fair?”

Mihashi raises his eyebrows, glancing away. “Abe started it.”

Abe snorts out a laugh. “Fair ‘nough.” He leans his elbows on the table, smiling goofily.

Mihashi peeks at him, then looks away. Then back. Then away. “W-what?”

“Mm? Just…” Abe tilts his head, then shakes it. “Nothing. You wanna,” he lets his eyes flick down pointedly, “take your pants off?”

Mihashi regards him for a second, then smiles, nodding. He comes up on his knees, giving Abe a superb look at his dick tenting the front of the thin pyjama pants, then flops back down. “Um…wh…how…I—”

“Stand.” Mihashi’s eyes widen, then he scrambles off the side of the bed. The image lurches, blurring to show Mihashi standing beside the bed, backlit by the curtained window as if to draw attention to his slim form, the beautiful angle of his hips just visible above the waistband of the pyjama pants. Abe breathes out a soft groan, watching him slip his thumbs under the elastic, pull it away from his skin and down, down, revealing the curve of his quads, and— “Stop.”

“Ah?” Mihashi gives him a perplexed look.

“It looks good just like that. Leave it for now, and just jack off like that.”

Mihashi nods, blushing spectacularly, as if this were the first time, as if he hadn’t been kneeling astride Abe’s chest only a few nights back with his hand just like that, with his fingers dragging up the underside, then down, slowly encircling his cock. Except then, then it had been a prelude to Abe wedging his hands under Mihashi’s thighs, pulling him forwards, forwards, until his knees were either side of his head. Abe makes a low noise, shifting in his seat. He drops a hand to press against the front of his pants a moment before fumbling his belt loose.

“Hey! I wanna see too!” Mihashi flops forward, craning his neck and peering down as though he could gain a better vantage point.

Abe chuckles as he stands, turning the laptop towards the bed. He backs up until he feels it against his calves and the back of his knees, making him wobble a little as he pulls his belt loose. Mihashi stays close to the screen but shifts his weight to one hand, the other skimming down his side to take hold of his dick again. Abe unzips his pants, pushing them down his hips. “D’you want me to—”

“I want to see Abe naked.”

His sureness, his near-demanding tone, more than the words themselves, leave Abe with a shiver climbing his spine. He shucks off his pants and socks, then stands straight, doing another little turn for Mihashi.

It was done kind of jokingly, but when he faces the screen again, Mihashi’s staring with dark eyes and soft lips and the steady work of his fist and just enough room there between the arc of his body and the side of the bed, just enough room for Abe, and Mihashi’s hand clenching in his hair instead of on the blanket and that slow needy rock of his hips.

“…Want you…” Mihashi’s eyes fall shut, then pop open, a franticness in them. “Abe! You have to…you gotta do it too, or…or I’m going to come first…”

Abe spits in his palm before gripping his dick, his hips hitching forward with the first wet drag of skin-on-skin. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. But slow down, if you need to.” His lips quirk in a tired grin. “It’s good, just seeing you.”

Mihashi flushes, gaze dropping then slowly creeping back up, his lips curving in a tiny smile. His hand slows, almost twisting on the shaft, such a small movement even with the tight, even rock of his hips, and sending Abe’s blood pounding. He steps forward again, leaning an elbow on the table and head bumping against the screen, his eyes fallen shut.

“Mihashi… I want to hear you…” His eyes slit open, trail up Mihashi’s body to his face. _I want to kiss you so bad, it hurts. It fucking hurts._

_Never again._

Mihashi clears his throat. “Um…I don’t know if… Oh! That…” Abe pulls a face, pushing away to bend one knee on the edge of the bed. Mihashi swings away, one hand tugging up the slipping pyjama pants as he rummages in the bedside table. Abe quirks an eyebrow, enjoying the profile view of his erection. Not for long before Mihashi turns back, eagerly squeezing out some lube into his palm and then leaning over the computer again.

Abe pants out a harsh breath, then in and out again, his own fingers tightening at the deliciously lewd sound, at Mihashi’s barely-contained little hiccup of noise as his fingers slide over his skin, at the trembling in his legs and then the slow roll of his hips that leaves Abe with a curse dripping from his lips like a prayer and his own hips tilting back as if to meet him, his muscles clenching tight.

Mihashi doesn’t look into the camera anymore, focuses intently on the screen, mouth hanging open on steady pants. “I…I like being…here…because…here, it smells like Abe…the sheets smell…a little like sex, still, and I…”

Abe stops long enough to spit in his hand again, though god, the slick sounds from the speaker are almost enough. Mihashi’s back is arching, he leans heavy on one elbow and Abe can mostly just see his hair, darker here at his nape, and the slope and curve of neck and shoulder and collarbone and back and the slight tremor in his shoulder blade that hints at the unseen motion of his hand. His own strokes are sharper, smaller, and he can’t seem to figure out what to do with his other hand except no, he knows _exactly_ , he wants to feel it inside, wants some approximation of Mihashi’s frantic little thrusts that have him crying out so beautifully. He settles for cramming the heel of his palm against his thigh, dragging in, in to where he can feel the tightening of his muscles and curl his fingers so very close. Abe’s eyes fall shut, his head flung back, mouth working soundlessly, and all the while, the gasp and hitch and note of desperation that lets him know Mihashi is close, so close, and he wants, he wants to see but white fire rushes down his spine, floods him with pleasure and leaves him fumbling to catch his come even as his other hand still pumps his dick.

He rides it out with his legs shaking and his breath trapped in his throat. As soon as he can, he looks down, finding Mihashi staring at the screen, still and almost drugged-looking. His breaths come slow, speeding up gradually until his chest rises and falls rapidly, his hand jerking back into motion. Abe sags on the edge of the bed, one fist held closed, and watches adoringly as Mihashi shivers and cries out some incoherent syllable and then pulls tight, tight, only his arm moving and his face a gorgeously genuine grimace of euphoria. Abe savours it, every little twitch of Mihashi’s mouth, the tiniest sliver of dark gold-brown visible for a second between his lashes, the slowing hitch of his hips, the sigh of relief he breathes into the silence.

Mihashi holds still for a beat before collapsing. Lunging forward, Abe grits out an alarmed noise that turns lightly exasperated when Mihashi adjusts the screen to show him leaning on the side of the bed with his head cushioned on his arm, a sweet sated smile on his lips.

“Abe…can we do that…again?”

“Sure.” Abe drops to his knees beside the table, smiling back at Mihashi’s tousled, flushed image. He reaches out with his clean(er) hand, tracing a finger over Mihashi’s lips. “Wait…did you just come all over my floor?”

Mihashi jumps, eyes going huge. He shoves himself back, peering down with frantic gasps, then looks back up, relieved. “Just! Just on the bed…”

Abe sighs out a laugh. “I think, however delightful you might find it, that I’d appreciate it if you change the sheets before I come home.” Mihashi nods enthusiastically, smiling at Abe again. He’s bright and chipper in a way that calls Abe’s attention to the sandiness of his eyes and the weariness in his body. He can’t quite bring himself to move, though. “Another day…”

“It’s too long.”

“Yeah.” He gives Mihashi a crooked smile. “Hey, at least you have the option of doing fun stuff! Me, I’m gonna be standing in lines and then sitting down for ages.”

“Hm…” Mihashi taps his cheek in an offensively cute fashion. “You could pretend it’s a tournament draw! That might make it more exciting…”

Abe stares back at him a moment, then drops his face on his arms with a thoroughly inelegant laugh. As soon as he’s got himself under control, he peeks up at Mihashi. “I think I’ll manage. But thanks.”

Mihashi beams at him. Then his face softens. “Abe looks sleepy.”

Abe rubs his face on his arms, muffling his response, “I _am_ sleepy.”

“ _You_ should go to bed.”

“I should.”

Mihashi glowers ridiculously in a way Abe can only assume is an imitation of him, shaking his finger at him. “Then go to sleep! Tomorrow will come sooner if you sleep sooner, and you need energy!”

“Okay, okay!” Abe chuckles, heaving himself to his feet.

Mihashi sighs dreamily. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

For a moment, Mihashi fidgets, getting a goofy little smile. He brings his first two fingers to his lips, and Abe can clearly hear the sound of his kiss. _Are you serious?_ Mihashi reaches forward to press his fingers to the screen, and as much as Abe might like to facepalm, he imitates the motion. Then presses his entire palm to the smooth surface, waiting until Mihashi does the same and then holding a little longer before dropping his hand to his side.

“G’night.” _There is so much more I want to say to you_.

“Night night!”

_It can wait. We have time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternately: Abe realises after the fact he has just splatted his spooge-covered hand on his laptop screen.
> 
> I apologise deeply and sincerely for my probable butchering of the Italian language here. OTL At least you're not listening to me speak it. Latin, I got. Italian...eluded me. Rather spectacularly.
> 
> The orange trees are one of my more magical memories of Italy. Where I live, there are a lot of beautiful gardens, and in the spring and even the winter, the city is COVERED in the blossoms from ornamental cherry trees. But other than apples and pears, fruit trees aren't common, and they're usually in orchards out of the city or in yards. So to walk down this street under this gorgeously fragrant canopy... I feel like it's such a fleeting moment here, but it's something I treasure in my soul.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always want confetti and balloons to fall from the ceiling when I actually finish a multi-chapter work....
> 
> also thank u Higuchi-sensei for totally taking the wind outta my sails on one of the emotionally impactful (hopefully) moments in this chapter

**Day 7**

Late, but not late enough, Abe wakes up to the unpleasant blare of his alarm. Rolls over to fumble it off, grimacing as the movement makes both his head and his stomach very unhappy. He flops back, grabbing one of the other pillows and dropping it on top of his face.

_We’re going home today. I’M going home._

He pulls the pillow down, blinking up at the ceiling. _It was only a week, what’s wrong with me?_ _Is it normal to be this excited?_

_Is it normal that I just seem to love you more and more?_

He groans, dragging the pillow back over his face.

* * *

 

Breakfast is a misery he suffers through with grim dedication. Okubo keeps shooting him dirty looks, but Abe steadfastly ignores him. He takes a third mug of coffee up to the room with him to pack, feeling slightly less like death by the time he totes his suitcase back down to the lobby.

When Miura steps off the elevator, chatting with Shinohara, Abe startles himself by making his way over to her, sticking close while Mammoliti arranges for cabs to the airport. Miura repays him for this vote of friendship by passing out on his shoulder for most of the ride.

Abe glares at her until a thought occurs to him. He pulls out his phone.

 

{A snapchat; Abe looks into the camera blandly, one hand raised stiffly in a v-sign. Miura slumbers peacefully, except there is a curly mustache drawn on her in neon green. It reads [Made a new friend. She snores.]}

 

Abe makes sure to save the image to his phone so he can get her back for all the photo nonsense before sending it.

* * *

 

He fully intends to spend the flight asleep, but he’s full of a deep restlessness. That and, a couple hours into the flight, Kawaguchi changes places with the person next to Abe and begins amiably interrogating him about his future plans and ambitions. It’s irritating, but he can’t exactly tell him to buzz off and it’s probably in his best interests. When he looks up at one point he catches Okubo, now with Abe’s previous neighbour sitting next to him, giving him a thinly-veiled malicious glare.

Coming west, they’d chased the sun, but twilight falls while they’re still over the mainland. By the time the ocean gives way to islands, all Abe can see below are glitters of light through patchy clouds. It doesn’t matter, though, it still makes his heart lift.

They circle in over the glimmer of the city, the dark void of the bay, and eventually there’s the jolt as wheels hit pavement. It seems an interminable hell of waiting and standing and filling out forms and waiting and standing and waiting again, but then, then, he’s handing off his suitcase to a cabbie and getting in the back of the cab next to a coworker headed the same direction. Thankfully, neither the cabbie nor the other man seem inclined to talk to him. Or comment on his restlessness or the small smile he hides behind his hand.

By the time he finally waves an unenthusiastic goodbye and wheels his suitcase into his building, it’s edging close to two am, local time. He slouches against the elevator wall, letting his eyes fall shut; even if it’s still relatively early by his body’s clock, he’s exhausted, and knowing that his own bed is waiting for him so close by, likely with a warm and snuggly occupant, leaves him with his body heavy but his steps quick.

There’s a light on in the dining area but the apartment is quiet when he opens the door. Abe leans his suitcase against the wall, dropping his bag beside it and already reaching up to loosen his tie. Slowing now, he locks the door, then wanders through the kitchen, shrugging out of his suit jacket, face brightening when he sees the bowls set out on the table. A selection of foods that are good at room temperature: spinach gomae, julienned carrot and daikon salad, kinpira, some assorted pickles, and a heavy covered dish that turns out to be still-warm thin strips of fried beef that smell deliciously of sesame. The rice cooker is unplugged, but when he puts his hand on it, it’s still miraculously warm.

Abe drops his jacket on the back of a chair, smiling fondly down at the spread, then glances back towards the bedroom, wondering where Mihashi might be. His eyes catch on a familiar shape on the couch. Shaking his head with a sigh, he walks over, quietly nudging the coffee table out of the way with his foot so he can crouch down.

Still in t-shirt and jeans, Mihashi lies half on his face, curled up as much as the couch will allow, hand loosely gripping his phone. Abe’s sure, if he woke it up, it would display the “sleepy Abe” picture he’d sent. He tilts his head, smiling, just watching the steady rise and fall of Mihashi’s chest, drinking in his sleep-quiet face. When he’s ready, he finally leans on the edge of the couch, reaching out a finger to brush some strands of Mihashi’s hair back.

Mihashi’s eyes slit open, his lips twitching, and then he starts, flailing his way up into a sitting position, eyes wide on Abe’s face. And then breaks into the smile that stops Abe’s heart just as surely as it did the first time he saw it, even with lines from the couch on his cheek and his hair flattened on one side. Maybe _especially_.

Before Abe can move, Mihashi slides onto the floor beside him, setting his hands on Abe’s knees when he turns to him. They just look at each other for a moment, smiles lingering, then Abe brings a hand to Mihashi’s cheek, drawing him closer.

“I’m home.”

“Welcome back.”

The kiss is leisurely, much as part of him wants to bowl Mihashi over and kiss him senseless. But this is a moment he wants to savour: the glacier-slow squash of their lips, Mihashi’s low, almost relieved hum and then his lips parting slightly in invitation, the feel of his jaw working under Abe’s fingertips and the steady beat of his pulse when he slides his hand down to stroke firmly down the side of Mihashi’s neck. Every breath, every shift in the pressure of Mihashi’s lips, the hand now curling round the back of Abe’s neck, thumb stroking behind his ear, all of it, precious treasures, all of it, perfect. Abe’s eyebrows pull together, and there’s wetness caught in his lashes, and he wonders if a person is allowed to feel this happy.

Mihashi sways back, tugging on Abe’s arm, but he resists the pull, finally breaking the kiss to laugh out, “If we lie down here, we’re not getting up.” Mihashi hums sleepy agreement, tilting his head for another kiss, but Abe tips his head back. “You eaten?”

Determined, Mihashi smooches his chin. “Yeah. I was…I wanted to wait and eat with Taka, but then I was hungry, and I thought…you’d be happier if I ate?”

“Yeah. That’s good.” He rewards Mihashi with a quick peck. “You should go get ready for bed properly. I want a shower, so…”

Mihashi grumbles, but nods, nose brushing Abe’s cheek. Abruptly, he draws back, and Abe’s left blinking rapidly and hoping that the light’s too low to see his face clearly. Especially with Mihashi staring at him so intently, expression so open it threatens to set Abe off again.

“Um. But first, can I…can I have a hug?”

Abe gives him a lopsided smile. “’Course.” He rocks forward onto his knees, bringing Mihashi with him so their bodies are pressed together when he slings an arm over his shoulder. Mihashi clasps him tightly, sighing out a happy breath into the curve of his neck as Abe strokes up his back.

After a minute, Abe pats him, then pushes him back. “Right. We’ll fall asleep like that, too, or at least _I_ will. The sooner you get to bed, the sooner I’ll be in there with you.”

“’Kay!” Mihashi kisses him once more, then hops to his feet, springing back down the hall with surprising energy. Abe heads to the table more sedately, pausing to glance over at Mihashi where he’s getting out his toothbrush with a goofy little smile and an unconscious little wiggle.

He sits down, saying, “Itadakimasu,” loud enough for Mihashi to hear, then scoops rice into his bowl. Even though he’d eaten on the plane, he still lays into the meal eagerly, leaning back in his chair with a groan as he chews the first mouthful. _Everything I ate while I was away was delicious, but this…this is something else._

He’s exhausted and enraptured enough by the food that it takes until Mihashi’s slurred, “G’night,” before it finally hits him.

Abe drops his chopsticks on the table, turning to stare in the direction of his bedroom for a minute, then leans forward with his elbows on the table, curled hands resting against his lips, giving the kinpira a stricken look.

_TAKA???_

His cheeks burn, and he has to fight the urge to leap to his feet, go shake Mihashi awake, demand that he say it again. But good sense prevails, and, rubbing under one eye, he picks his chopsticks back up.

He puts what he doesn’t eat away but leaves the dishes for the morning before having a perfunctory shower (eyeing the tub longingly). _Definitely want a good soak in there with you tomorrow._ He dries off and wraps the towel around his hips while he digs out his toothbrush, then leaves the towel hanging in the bathroom when he’s done, flicking out the lights and stepping naked into the bedroom.

Mihashi doesn’t stir until Abe slides under the covers beside him. Abe pulls him close, kissing his forehead, his lips, and then just resting with their faces barely apart. And then, with another lingering groan, Mihashi wriggles down the bed, burrowing his face against Abe’s chest. They shift around until Mihashi’s head is comfortably pillowed on Abe’s bicep, his other hand mapping the arch of Mihashi’s shoulder blades, the sweep of his back down to the curve of his ass. The feel of bare skin against his own is exquisite, leaving Abe breathing out a low appreciative noise and squeezing Mihashi a little tighter. Lightness spreads through his chest and shoulders, so light he feels he could float away.

Both of them move slowly, just on the edge of starting something but not quite tipping over. Just Mihashi’s lips soft against his chest and his own against his forehead. Just Mihashi’s foot nudging between his ankles, his shins, his knees, until Mihashi’s thigh is squashed between his own and the pull of his muscles as he comes up to claim Abe’s lips once more. No words here, no sight, nothing but the gentle wonder of touch and familiar scents and the stillness of the early morning heavy in the air all around them and bearing their limbs down, down into the plush bed, Mihashi’s fingers finally stilling in their strokes at the small of Abe’s back.

Abe falls asleep smiling gently.

* * *

 

**Day 8**

He was worried he’d sleep in, but his body’s confused enough that it just wakes with the sun. There’s a split second of disorientation before the warmth at his back reminds him he’s home. Abe stretches lazily so as not to disturb Mihashi, then carefully ducks out from under his arm and goes to piss.

He considers trying to rustle up breakfast, but he’s honestly still full of last night’s (second) supper, and besides, the lure of bed and Mihashi is too strong. Abe stops in the doorway, though, stretching on the doorframe. And just…looking.

Mihashi has flopped over on his back, face still turned towards where Abe had lain, limbs spreading to fill the space. The blankets have been flung back, just barely covering the dip of his pelvic bone, leaving the expanse of his toned torso bare to the creamy dawn, his other arm a tan strip across pale stomach.

It reminds him of so many other mornings, so many other moments just like this one and yet not, and all the more perfect for their similarities, their differences, their roughnesses and their beauty. All suddenly superimposed on each other, a dizzying rush of memory, and with it an overwhelming sense of not enough, never, never enough. Mihashi here, Mihashi in his own apartment. By the dim flicker of rain, the crisp glow of snow, in the depths of night and the middle of the day. Older memories, too, waking up in a room full of other boys and somehow needing to search out that one tousled mess of blond hair as though he might have gone missing in the night. Mihashi asleep on his knees or with Shiga-sensei still checking and stretching his arms or slumped over in a bus or car. Turning his head in a hotel bed, watching the rise and fall of Mihashi’s chest and beginning to form new promises in his heart.

And things too that are not memories. Images of what Mihashi might look like with a few more years on him. A _lot_ more years. What he would look like with a dog curled at the foot of the bed, or perhaps with a smaller shape pressed into the shallow curve of his side.

Abe covers his mouth, blinking rapidly, suddenly feeling very, very naked. He pushes away from the doorframe, crossing to the bed, making himself drop his hands from his face, lean heavily over the bed.

Mihashi stirs, reaching up for him with his eyes still mostly closed. “Wh’re you up?”

“Bathroom.” Abe slides into Mihashi’s arms like home, kicking his way under the blankets and ending up resting half on top of him with his face shoved against Mihashi’s chest, arms curled around his shoulders. Mihashi hums a vague answer, coming up enough to bury his nose in Abe’s hair. He traces the dip of Abe’s spine as far as he can reach, then back up, pressing kisses into his hair, and it’s lovely, lovely, and not enough, not enough contact for him right now. With an unsteady inhale, Abe pushes himself up, gaining himself an offended grumble from Mihashi that turns into a startled noise as Abe shifts over so his legs are either side of Mihashi’s.

He lays on top of him slowly, squeezing Mihashi’s legs together with his knees, then resting his hips on top of Mihashi’s hips, his stomach on top of Mihashi’s stomach, his chest on Mihashi’s chest. Lingers on his elbows to take in Mihashi’s tipped-back head and the stretch of his throat, his eyes slipped shut again and his mouth soft and ready to be kissed. His arms come up, trying to pull Abe down, and when it doesn’t work, he cracks open his eyes, glints of gold at the bottom of a sleepy pond.

“Abe…”

“That’s not what you called me last night.”

With this much of their bodies in contact, it’s impossible to miss the shock jolting through Mihashi’s body, and it’s all Abe can do not to laugh. He dips down, kissing the corner of Mihashi’s mouth.

“Say it again.”

When he draws back, Mihashi’s eyes are wide open, searching his face for any sign of disapproval. And, Abe knows, finding none. There’s another tug on his shoulders, and then Mihashi murmuring out, “Takaya,” clear for all its softness. Abe doesn’t think he’s ever loved his name so much as he does on those lips.

He lets himself be pulled down then, breathing out, “Ren.” And perhaps his voice cracks a little or perhaps the way he hides his face in the curve of Mihashi’s neck is too suspicious, or perhaps nothing of the sort, perhaps Mihashi just wanted to card his fingers through Abe’s hair, to smooth his palm in broad circles on Abe’s back, to turn his head and brush his lips over the furl of his ear. Abe just nuzzles him, arms tucked up under Mihashi’s shoulders, keeping his breath even and his eyes shut tight.

When he’s ready, he lifts his head, rubbing his rather sandpaper-y cheek against Mihashi’s substantially smoother one. Mihashi giggles like he knew he would, and yet it still leaves Abe with the star in his chest glowing white-hot, seeming to suffuse every inch of his body. He turns his head a little, waiting for Mihashi to do the same, the corners of their mouths brushing. Turns just a little bit more so he can kiss there, feel Mihashi’s lips quirk up in a smile. And then Mihashi meets his lips fully, exquisitely, a gentle noise breaking out of him that turns into a gasp as Abe very pointedly rolls his hips against him.

Abe raises his head, only to be pulled back down into another luxuriant kiss. When he tilts his hips again, Mihashi rocks his up to meet him, molasses-slow and just as sweet. He’d already felt Mihashi starting to get hard before he’d even started moving, the sheer squash of their bodies enough to get his dick to twitch intriguingly. Now, feeling the reactions of his body, hearing the hitch of his breath as Abe scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, feeling his hand tighten in his hair, it’s heady liquor, washing over his mind and leaving him in a golden haze. And yet he keeps his movements measured, gentle. _I want this to take a while._

Mihashi’s lips are sleep-soft and wet, almost sloppy, and Abe loves it, loves the way Mihashi receives his inquisitive tongue, sucking on it and sending a shiver of pleasure down Abe’s spine. The way he follows Abe’s lead, fingertips trailing along the angle of Abe’s jaw. The way he looks when Abe pulls back, his lips shiny and flushed to match the pink of his cheeks, gaze unfocused but then latching onto Abe’s face, and god, so full of love that he ducks back down without a conscious thought, kisses him again and again.

He stays propped on one elbow, though, lifting his hips so he can get a hand down between them. Mihashi jerks his head back with a stuttered inhale when Abe’s fingers find his cock, and it’s so delicious, so perfect, that he’s tempted to abandon his plan and jerk Mihashi off. Watch him buck and arch under him, drive him hard towards his sweet release, maybe get his mouth on him at the end, let the creamy bitterness of Mihashi’s ecstasy spatter across his tongue and lips and cheek. But there will be time enough for that later, and again, and many times; for now, he needs something different, and he feels like maybe Mihashi does too. So he just adjusts Mihashi’s dick to lay up against his stomach, nudging his own growing erection with his thumb as he lowers his hips so they’re sliding against each other.

Mihashi holds him tight, mouth open on a light pant, waiting for him to move before he does. Abe enjoys it a little longer, memorising exactly how Mihashi feels under him. The pointiness of his hipbones, the yield of his belly, so perfect to grind against, how much narrower his chest is but still plush and solid under him, and the exquisite feel of his thighs between Abe’s, almost brushing against the underside of his ass as he finally rolls his hips forwards. Abe inhales tightly, cheek pressed against Mihashi’s, dropping a hand to grip his side, feel the pull of his obliques as Mihashi fucks against him. Even moving as slow as they are, they’re getting sweaty where their bodies touch, slipping against each other with intoxicating ease.

“Ren.” He stops, savouring the syllable on his tongue. “Ren, I want you to fuck me, okay? But like this,” he underscores with a particularly unhurried thrust, loving the staccato sound of Mihashi’s inhale. “Can you do that for me?”

He can feel Mihashi trying to form words; Abe smiles, nuzzling down to kiss his neck as Mihashi finally forces out, “I…I… I want to make Takaya feel good, so… A-anything…” He turns his head, waiting until Abe comes up for a kiss on the lips before going on. “I want to do that…together…”

Abe lingers a moment longer, hoping to hear his name again, but then sinks down into another gentle press of lips. Fingers brush the hand he’s bracing with, intertwine with his own; Abe hums his approval into Mihashi’s mouth, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to feel his fingers tighten, his hips jerk. Palm to palm, forearm to forearm, chest to chest, face to face, and Mihashi’s other arm slung around his neck, his calves hooked around Abe’s. So good he feels like he might shatter, and yet no, no, he remains whole, more truly whole than he has been for the past seven days.

“I love you.”

He’s not entirely sure which of them speaks the words, or if it’s both, or if either of them truly does, if it’s not just there singing through every movement, every breath, every inch of sweat-slick skin. Every corner of his mind caught in that warm honey dream of _Ren_. The more his body urges him to speed up, the more he resists, keeping them at a low plateau that has Mihashi groaning into his mouth and trailing a hand down to press low on Abe’s back.

He tilts his hips back encouragingly, breathing out a gasp of his own as the head of his dick catches sticky on Mihashi’s stomach. Fingers press into his cleft, pushing down and then spreading out to cup the curve of his ass, nails grazing underneath and the back of his thigh. Abe lifts his head, inhaling slowly, then breathes out, “ _Fuck_ , yeah, Ren,” against Mihashi’s cheek, twitching back into his touch. Mihashi is eager to please, as always, stroking his skin lightly a few times before using fingers and thumb to spread him. Abe stills, legs trembling, then lowers his hips when Mihashi goes back to dragging fingertips over his sweaty skin.

“I thought about this, too. When I was…doing things.” Abe jerks his head up, eyes intent on Mihashi’s flushed face while he continues, “Thought about…about stretching Takaya open on my fingers. The way you feel inside? When I get it just right. And the way you look.” Mihashi lifts his head, lips moving against Abe’s. “I wanted to see Takaya make those faces again. A-and I came, from that, from thinking about you.”

Hurrying things up a little seems like an excellent plan, even as much as he’s enjoying Mihashi spreading him again, one finger dipping down to tease his hole. Abe rolls to the side with a breathlessly demanding, “Ren.” Mihashi disentangles himself, twisting to yank open the bedside table drawer. Abe props himself up on one elbow, fitting the other hand to the perfect curve of Mihashi’s waist, pressing a sucking kiss to his shoulder as he fumbles around for lube. And finally, Mihashi’s whipping back around, eagerly pushing him back down on the bed, their eyes locked. He has no breath and very little self-control left, reaching up to pull Mihashi down before he can get the cap off the tube. Their teeth clack, pinch lips, and then Mihashi tilts his head, draws back enough to make it so fucking good, and his fingers working, knuckles brushing against Abe’s side and then the back of his hand brushing between his thighs. Abe spreads his legs wide, feeling shameless, feeling somehow less naked than he had in the doorway, now clothed in Mihashi’s desire and adoration and the oceanic swell of his own love.

Mihashi nudges him apart with fingers, cool slickness smearing against Abe’s hot skin as he brings the pad of a finger to rub his hole. He dips in, dragging back with exquisite slowness only to push in deeper. Abe keeps his breathing controlled, not letting his muscles clench, not urging Mihashi any faster than he wants to go. Mihashi breaks the kiss, eyes travelling down Abe’s body before slipping back up to meet his own.

“I…want…” Mihashi’s brows pull together, his mouth working, the tip of his finger curling just shy of ecstasy. “Want… I want…I want you…”

They have always, always struggled with communication, but there are these moments, Mihashi’s eyes on his and all distance evaporating, where it doesn’t feel like he’s talking underwater, where he doesn’t feel like they need to talk at all. Maybe they’re all the more exquisite for their rarity. And here, and now, he knows Mihashi means something more than sex, something more than they’ve had words for, something that is the sum of their dreams and their hearts and so much bigger, beautiful and terrifying and home.

Abe slides his fingers round the back of Mihashi’s head, pulls him down so their foreheads press together even as he rolls his hips with the thrust of Mihashi’s fingers. “Shh, shh…” Their noses bump, Mihashi nuzzling against him and breathing out a cry against his lips. Mihashi’s arm, his shoulder, his whole body moves with each hitching push, and god, as they pull out, his fingers scissoring apart, his dick hard and sticky against Abe’s hip.

Impatient now, Abe twists his hips, gradually turning his lower body to the side, though he keeps their faces together as long as he can. Mihashi reaches over him, then abruptly pulls his fingers free, sliding them in again from the back with a fresh coating of lube. His fingers angle just _so_ , and Abe can’t help himself, hips tracing short sharp circles, his mouth open on a steady pant against Mihashi’s cheek, his fingers reaching back to grip his side, slide down, down, stutter over his hips, down to squeeze his cock. Mihashi gasps, bucking against him, then evens out his movements to fuck into Abe’s hand. He dips down to kiss Abe’s neck, out along his shoulder, urgency in each fevered press of lips that Abe feels burn through him, ignite the star in him once again, burning so bright he could cry, he could laugh, he could die here with the tip of Ren’s dick nudging against the top of his cleft, with his murmured, “Takaya…” against his skin, with him squashed so close like he can’t bear to have any distance between them.

His hand jerks free, hips snapping forward and pinning Takaya’s hand for a second before he relaxes. Takaya strokes up the length of Ren’s dick one last time then reaches up to grip the pillow next to his face, waiting patiently while Ren messes with the lube. And rolling his eyes when Ren insistently wedges his free hand under his waist, all elbow and awkward angles and palm sliding up to his chest and perfect. Takaya rocks his hips back, nearly trembling with how much he wants to feel this, how much he wants to give this.

Ren’s dick slides under his ass, pushing between his thighs and then dragging back wetly. “ _Fuck_ ,” Takaya breathes, fingers clenching on the pillow. Ren’s other hand wanders over Takaya’s hip, straying down to where his dick angles up towards his stomach. But then, then he remembers himself, pulls his hand away to take hold of his own cock and guide it to a new angle, bringing it to press against Takaya’s hole and in, in, tight tiny snaps of his hips pushing ever deeper. Ren gropes his ass, kissing his nape sloppily, breath coming loud through his nose, and god, Takaya loves every second of it, loves this sublime torture of waiting, waiting to feel Ren pressed against him, waiting to feel him deep inside, waiting for the moment where he gives Takaya’s ass one last squeeze and then reaches over his hip to grip his cock.

Takaya feels already like he’s singing on the edge of that drop, but no, the deliberate rock of Ren’s hips keeps him just shy, keeps him in this space where his mind is full of an aching clarity and each shift of their bodies rings through him. Ren’s hand is slick and warm, so warm, and his other fingertips pressing into Takaya’s pec and a murmur of sound against his shoulder that resolves into a long, deep moan that resonates through him, reaches down to where his body pulls incrementally tighter with pleasure. Almost, he wishes Ren would just still, just stop buried deep in him and his thighs squashed against Takaya’s and his arms around him and his breath hot on his ear, wishes he could stay like this until he’d had his fill, a moment he’s sure now would never come.

Ren’s movements hitch, hang, just as perfect as he’d imagined but then, then, his lips finding Takaya’s ear and when he tips his head back, the slightest scrape of teeth over his lobe and Ren pulling out enough to thrust back in so deliciously. And again, and again.

“Is it okay…?” Ren’s lips find the corner of his jaw, move in non-words as he fucks Takaya at a steadily increasing pace.

“Yeah…” He laces his fingers through Ren’s against his chest, his own hips rocking steadily and god it sounds so good, the sound of Ren jerking him off, the sound of his gasping pants in his ear, the slap of his hips against Takaya’s ass, the roughness of his own breath. It’s too much, too much, not enough, not enough, never enough, but _his_ , this flash, this spark, their life together, skipping on the surface of his life and then igniting on that cold morning a year ago, and here, now, blazing through him but not consuming, no, leaving him more, leaving him greater until he thinks he might burst.

But no, no, it’s Ren fucking him hard and his fingers tensing and relaxing against Takaya’s and a tight whimper torn from his throat that Takaya echoes with a soft groan and his free hand reaching back to grip Ren’s hip, slide down his thigh and back up. His toes spread, pushing against nothing but so desperate for purchase, something to hold himself solid, and the stray thought as he listens to Ren gasp in his ear, _are we going to come together? How cheesy._ His eyes slip closed as he feels that build, mind full only of _Ren_ and _love_ and incoherent joy that overflows, that leaves him squeezing tight around Ren’s dick, shuddering an inhale a split second before Ren comes inside him with a sweet cry.

Ren strokes him through it, his hips twitching with each pulse through his body, each rippling through Takaya. He drags their joined hands up, up so he can kiss Ren’s palm again and again, clumsy and earnest and when his eyes slip shut, he feels the tears caught in his lashes. Some part of him recoils, wants to hide this, wants to hide everything, but no, no, he twists, reaches, reaches, finds Ren’s face, his gorgeous face, so he can pull him in for a kiss, long and soft and their bodies stilling in the warm glaze of filtered sunlight and the distant hum of the city coming to life.

Ren pulls back, and there’s that urge again, that desire to pull him close where he can’t see, distract him any way he can, but no, Takaya just makes himself gaze back him steadily. His lips curve in a relaxed smile, but he knows that Ren doesn’t need the reassurance, knows that he likes it anyway. Ren’s lids flutter low and when his eyes open again, they’re wet with his own tears.

He dips close again, nose squished against Takaya’s. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Ren pulls his softening dick free, pawing at Takaya until he rolls on his back and then climbing atop him with a ridiculous shy smile, even with tears tracking down his cheek. He presses close, kissing the tip of Takaya’s nose, his cheeks, his forehead, even his eyelids, until he can’t help but laugh, crushing Ren against his chest in a futile attempt to keep him still that turns into a bear hug and faces pressed into the curve of necks and it’s perfection, giggling bony ridiculous perfection. Takaya rolls them, squashing Ren and making him giggle even harder as he trails smiling kisses along his jaw.

Takaya sits back on Ren’s hips, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where’s my breakfast?”

Ren looks startled. Then makes that delightfully weaselly little face. Then Takaya has to attempt to kiss him with a pillow viciously shoved in his face.


End file.
